


Tomb Raider: The Legacy

by Meldelen



Category: Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9084661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen
Summary: Anna, daughter of Lara Croft and Kurtis Trent, has unexpectedly manifested the Lux Veritatis' legacy. Born into a world free from the enemies and threats that tormented her parents, there's no reason why she would inherit the Gift. Or maybe there is, after all? Post-TRAOD. Sequel to The Awakening. LCxKT. Thanks to Claire Sail for the beta-reading.





	1. Lady Croft

_I will return and I will be millions._

_HOWARD FAST, Spartacus_

  1. **Lady Croft**



The old lady slowly pulled back the curtain and inquisitively surveyed the outer landscape. Croft Manor was calm, silent and serene as usual, the ticking of the old clock being the only sound there.

She'd arrived in advance, as always. She wanted to be there when her granddaughter arrived, to greet her personally. No negligence on the part of Lady Croft - not with her.

That girl meant the world to her.

She winced at the distant roar of the engine. She frowned - of course, he brought her on the motorbike. On that huge, noisy, _monstrous_ motorbike.

The horror.

She watched with a critical eye as the manor gates opened and the shiny Brough Superior SS100 made its entrance. An old glory, and Lady Croft would've been surprised if only she were interested in such things, how much that vehicle had endured and its merit in surviving through it all.

Same as its driver.

_That_ _man_ \- Lady Croft refused to utter his name, although of course she knew it - parked the motorbike on the main road and turned off the engine. Almost as soon as the roar died out, her granddaughter's incessant chatter overcame the soft murmur of the garden.

The old lady didn't hear exactly what she was saying, nor did she care too much at the moment. She was rather worried about the girl traveling on that monster, behind _that_ _man_ , clinging to his waist.

How awful. There was plenty of traffic accidents nowadays, and even more when riding those devil machines - not to mention that _the_ _man_ had never used a helmet.

Although Lady Croft had to give him that, at least, the girl was wearing one. In fact, while she was still chattering like a parrot, he turned and patiently took the helmet off his daughter's head, revealing tangled hair.

The lady grunted in disapproval: her granddaughter looked like a basket of angry cats. No matter how much she tried to turn her into something good-looking when she was with her: as soon as she returned to _that_ _man_ – or to her mother, for what mattered - she got out of control again.

The girl, oblivious to her disastrous appearance, keep on chattering non-stop while the _man_ rubbed her hair with one hand.

“Lovely.” Lady Croft grunted between teeth. “Tousle her hair a bit more, why not.”

Moments later, and still not silent, the girl adjusted a baggy backpack almost bigger than her, put her arms around the man's neck and kissed him - _Good Lord, I hope he doesn't spread anything to her_ \- on his half-shaved cheek – _he doesn't even know how to shave properly, look at those side-whiskers_ – after which she jumped off the bike and planted on the ground with a movement not lacking a certain elegance.

The elegance of her mother, of course. She was a Croft.

Now _that_ _man_ was saying something in a low voice, miraculously silencing her. The girl listened carefully, then nodded. The man smiled - if that crooked grin could be called a smile - and patted her on the shoulder. The girl smiled too, said goodbye waving her hand, turned back and entered the manor.

Then the man looked up and looked directly at _her_.

Lady Croft startled and leaped back, releasing the curtain. What on earth...? She covered her mouth, embarrassed, and stood quietly behind the curtains until she heard the roar of the engine and the motorbike going away.

But she didn't have much time to worry about it, for she heard like a stampede climbing the stairs and a second after her granddaughter broke into the room, running toward her with open arms. “Grandma!” She shouted, pouncing on her.

The old lady staggered, stunned, but soon regained her balance. “Anna Croft! What manners are these? A lady does _not_ behave like this!”

The girl smiled with that broad smile of hers and glanced at her with those immense eyes, blue as the sea. The eyes of _that_ _man_. "I'll tell her as soon as I see one," she teased, and then winked, naughty.

Lady Angeline couldn't help but smile in spite of herself. She bent to kiss her granddaughter, brushed the hair off her forehead - and then she noticed the scar.

 

* * *

 

By Lara's own decision, Anna wasn't always with her. Many of the places she traveled to were too dangerous for a girl of her age, and besides, she couldn't follow her inside the tombs and temples, plagued with traps and obstacles – not yet, at least.

So when she couldn't stay with her mother, Anna used to be with one of the several, but select people that Lara fully trusted. The first was, of course, her father, but with Kurtis it was the same as with Lara; so when she couldn't stay with either of them, she spent her time with Marie Cornel, Selma and Zip, Jean Yves, Father Dunstan, Charles Kane, Radha and Sita Deli... and Lady Angeline Croft, her British grandmother.

Lady Croft didn't live in the manor in Surrey, but she moved there when she needed to look after Anna - and this happened only during the school year, which couldn't be missed. The old lady had taken her own daughter to several boarding schools while she and her husband – may he rest in peace – went on their social life and acts of charity.

That had been a terrible mistake. Lara was now a stranger to her - and Lord Croft had only worsened the situation when he disowned her.

Lady Angeline had lost her daughter, but she didn't intend to lose her granddaughter too.

So no boarding school for Anna, but she did come and go to an elite girl’s high school and Lady Croft remained always there, waiting for her for when she came back.

That was the time she lived in England. Then, depending on who took care of her, she spent whole seasons in Mexico, Turkey, Egypt, Ireland, India, or even on the road, on _that_ _man's_ motorbike. Anna was a bit like everyone's daughter.

Lady Croft was certain they would ruin the child with so much tumble around the world -  as Lara had been ruined. But the old lady didn't dare open her mouth about it. Her daughter had been clear: she would _not_ interfere with her education. She would raise her in her own way. Otherwise... well, she hadn't uttered a threat, but Lady Angeline had understood perfectly.

Too late to settle her differences with Lara - but it wouldn't be the same with Anna.

No, Lady Croft had no intention of giving up her granddaughter.

Of course, as long as the girl stood with her, there was nothing wrong with instilling some manners in her... it was totally harmless, and Lady Croft knew it was one of the few things her daughter would agree with.

What she hadn't expected was that, after so many years, educating Anna in the manners of a British lady would be a hopeless task.

And all because of _that_ _man_ \- and his filthy mouth. Lady Croft could only try to fix the mess, at most.

 

* * *

 

“What's this?” The old lady murmured, gently running her finger across the red scar on the girl's forehead. “What happened to you?”

Anna's smile faded. For a moment she seemed to be studying her grandmother closely - then she shrugged. “I fell from a tree, Grandma.”

Lady Angeline frowned. "I'm old, not stupid, darling. I know you're lying: you _don't_ simply fall from trees - and I also watch TV. What's happening in Sri Lanka? You weren’t caught in that horrible war, right?”

The girl stared at the floor. “I...I _actually_ fell from a tree - but nothing happened to us.” She looked up again. "Dad got us outta there. He saved us, y'know? And he fixed me and stitched the wound - it hurt like hell, but I didn't complain. And then he drove a huge helicopter. I also want to be a pilot like him - but Colonel Kendrick told me I need to eat well and grow up before that. He treats me like a baby, but I don't say anything because I feel very sorry – one of his legs was amputated...”

Lady Angeline sighed. What an imagination the girl had. Pilots and severed legs... what kind of nonsense where they putting in her head, both Lara and that... _that...?_

“... but soon he'll walk again, y'know? He's getting a mechanical leg. That's because he's now a war hero and they owe him that. Dad's also a war hero, but no one gives him anything because he's not lost his leg - and because he had to leave. There's nothing for him - but the colonel told me Dad's a war hero. He saved his life. In Afghanistan.”

"Anna Croft," sighed the old lady, "you're giving me a headache. A lady does _not_ talk that much, without stop, as you do.”

“I'm not a lady.” The girl winked again. “But it's OK, Grandma.” Then she bowed – there _was_ room for improvement in that reverence, truth be told - and trotted away, her hands still hooked on the bag's straps.  “I gotta show you my newest drawings, Grandma!” She sang. “I've improved a lot!”

 

* * *

 

And then, when she'd barely been in school for a month, the first incident happened.

Lady Angeline felt shocked when the headmistress summoned her urgently to deliberate "a serious matter related to Lady Anna", as she was called in there - a question of protocol extended to all students, since all were, without exception, daughters, granddaughters, sisters or nieces of lords and ladies.

The headmistress didn't want to anticipate details. "Come and see for yourself, my lady, I beseech you." The begging being a mere formal supplication, for her irritated and sharp voice left no doubt concerning who ruled there. Annoyed, angrily and with her heart in a fist, Lady Croft showed up at the school, an imposing building standing in the middle of manicured gardens, but not before promising herself in silence that such insolence would be paid back.

All yearning for reckoning vanished when she reached Direction. In the distance there was a child crying in dismay, whose sobs became more audible and annoying as the old lady approached. Lady Angeline immediately dismissed all the restlessness: it was _not_ Anna. Her granddaughter _wouldn't_ have cried like this, less in public. She was like her mother, and like herself - proud like a goddess.

The headmistress, a stern and sour nun who reminded Lady Croft of her own time as an inmate, stepped on her way with a rather relieved expression. She didn't look as insolent as previously. "Ah, Lady Croft! Thanks for coming!” She gestured toward the open door from which came the thunderous cry. "Come in, see for yourself."

Passing by her side without a second glance - if she thought she could make her run without consequences, she could be prepared - Lady Angeline entered the office and then froze on the spot, gaping in horror.

Sitting on a bench was Lady Rochford the daughter, the heiress of an old acquaintance of hers - Lady Rochford the mother - who was looking after Lady Rochford the granddaughter, same age as Anna, and who, by the way, was the one crying so loudly. Although not without reason: the girl had her head turned back, held by her mother, who was pressing a tissue over her nose. The little blood spots down her neck and wetting her neat blouse didn't leave much doubt about what had happened.

Barely three feet away from them, sitting on the other side of the bench, her eyes low and sulky, was a silent Anna, who, upon seeing someone enter, looked up and noticed her grandmother. Then she jumped, startled.

“Good Lord!” Cried Lady Angeline, forgetting her restrains. "What happened to you?"

Her granddaughter had a black, almost closed eye, scraps of blood around her nose and spatter on her blouse, though she seemed to have stopped bleeding. Her hair was messy, her clothes dirty, and even some buttons were broken. Looking at her legs, Lady Croft discovered that they were full of scratches and bruises. “What happened here?” The old lady turned to the headmistress, outraged. “I demand an explanation!”

Lady Rochford looked up and snorted. "Do you want an explanation, Lady Angeline?" She stopped pressing her daughter's nose and pointed at Anna with the bloody handkerchief. "Ask that demon your granddaughter! Let her tell you what she's done!”

Anna moved again on the bench and glared at Lady Rochford with a look of hate that froze the blood in her veins. “I did _nothing!”_ She exploded, furious. “It was she who...!”

A click cut her speech. The headmistress had dashed her pointer against the table. “Silence! And now, Anna, explain to your grandmother what you've done."

The girl half narrowed her eyes. “It's _Lady_ Anna for you, sister.”

Lady Rochford gasped in surprise. Even her daughter had stopped crying and stared silently at the scene, with the cloth half-covering her face.

The headmistress' face darkened. "We'll discuss the matter of your behavior latter, _Lady_ Anna," she said. "Now, _please_ be so kind to explain to your grandmother what happened.”

But Anna buried her head in her chest and said nothing more. Suddenly she looked depressed.

"I will," Lady Rochford said. "Your granddaughter, Lady Croft, has punched my daughter in the face." She removed the bloody cloth from her daughter’s face again. "Look what she did! It's intolerable!”

Lady Angeline turned to her granddaughter. "Is that true, Anna? Have you hit the young Lady Rochford?”

The girl kept staring at the ground, but after a few seconds she nodded.

“Good!” The headmistress slapped, still with the pointer in hand. “She finally admits it!”

"However," Lady Croft wasn't about to surrender so easily, "I see my granddaughter is also quite battered. Who did that to you? Or are you going to tell me that you've fallen from a tree?”

"Several students had to hold her so she wouldn't keep hitting my poor girl," Lady Rochford said outraged.

Lady Croft raised her eyebrows. “Since when does "holding" someone leave you with a black eye?” She turned to the headmistress indignantly. "Young Lady Rochford may have bled a little from her nose, but my granddaughter's been beaten! I _still_ demand an explanation!”

Then there was Anna's low, downcast voice. “Forget it, Grandma. Doesn't matter.”

But the old lady still stared furiously at the headmistress. The latter, at last, admitted: “Some students...obviously misguided, saw the chance to take revenge on previous affronts. Your granddaughter, I'm sorry to say, is not very popular among our students.”

“So, as it turns out, she's been held by several girls while beaten.” Lady Croft cast her look around the present, indignant. “And you ladies are making drama about a little bloody nose! Where are the girls who beat you? Why are they not here?”

Anna was staring at her grandmother.

“The fight was started by Lady Anna.” The headmistress hastened to clarify, despite she no longer seemed so exultant. “Consequently, we have summoned only the...”

Lady Angeline turned back, in a clear gesture of contempt, and faced her still stunned granddaughter. "Why did you start the fight, Anna?" She asked simply.

The girl hesitated for a moment, while a sudden silence weighed in the office. Finally, she admitted: “Clarice insulted my parents.”

_“Lady_ Clarice.” The headmistress corrected, ironically, this time.

“Clarice's _not_ a lady.” Anna gritted her teeth. "She said my mother's a whore so I don't even know who my father is."

There was a distressing silence. The headmistress covered her mouth, horrified. Lady Angeline had frozen. Lady Rochford was the first to react: “My Clarice does _not_ use that language - and you'd do well, Lady Croft, in teaching manners to your granddaughter... although we shouldn't blame the girl, considering the people her mother frequents...”

"Lady Rochford." The old lady turned quickly to her. "I _wouldn’t_ advise you to continue speaking of my daughter, for then _that_ would coincide suspiciously with the accusations made on Lady Clarice." She looked around again with that contemptuous attitude. "I think there's no doubt here that my daughter has _always_ been a lady, both in manners and in language."

"Of course, my lady.” The headmistress had flushed. "Nobody here meant to insult Lady Lara Croft..."

“Except Clarice.” Anna muttered under her breath, inaudibly.

“...for we all know she's a lady and what she's done a lot for this school. But the behavior of Lady Anna is intolerable and in an institution of prestige like ours we _cannot...”_

"Yes, of course," Lady Angeline sighed. “Can we end this unfortunate episode? I'll speak with my granddaughter, though I'm sure she won't again shame me with such behavior.” And when saying this she shot her a sideways glance. Anna winced. God, now she knew from whom Lara had inherited that way of glaring at people.

“Are you done?” Lady Rochford protested. "My daughter's punched in the nose and that's all?"

"Be content, my lady.” Replied Lady Croft sourly. “My granddaughter's been beaten and apparently no one has bothered to summon those responsible.” She added looking with contempt at the headmistress. “Not to mention that your daughter has insulted _my_ daughter, and also my granddaughter, insinuating that she doesn't have a father.”

For the first time Clarice dared to open her mouth. “I never said that!” She jumped in her shrill voice. “Anna's made it up!”

_“Liar!”_ Anna jumped from the bench, clenching her fists.

Clarice let out a shriek and winced. Lady Rochford embraced her. “This is outraging!” She looked accusingly at the headmistress. “I hope that appropriate measures are taken against this! I will _not_ keep my daughter in a place where her integrity's at stake!”

Anna rolled her eyes, but that moved the headmistress to act against her. "Of course," the nun said. “Lady Anna Croft will be expelled for a month, during which we hope she'll reflect on what she's done and change her behavior from now on, after which she will be readmitted without problem. You can follow lessons and homework from home. I'm sorry, Lady Croft.”

But Lady Angeline didn't bother to answer. Taking Anna by the arm, she proceeded to leave the office, not without saying out loud: "I hope, Anna, that you remember well who beat you. Tomorrow I’ll return with a list of their names and demand the expulsion of them all - including Lady Clarice, of course." Before crossing the threshold, she looked over her shoulder at the three occupants of the office. "Be sure, ladies, that I'm going to transmit this unfortunate situation to my daughter. I doubt that Lady Lara Croft will not keep her daughter in a place where her honor is questioned by a weeping, spoiled brat.”

And she left with an elegant slam.

 

* * *

 

Anna remained cowering in the backseat of the Rolls Royce as they returned to Croft Manor. After a while she dared to smile. “Thank you, Grand...”

_“You're welcome!”_ The old lady snapped irritably. The girl winced again. "You don't think I approve of your shameful attitude, do you?" Anna didn't answer. “Ah, just because I stood up for you before those...” Lady Angeline swallowed the word  “... means that I absolve you of what you've done. Well, no! Punching someone for an insult? What kind of manners are those? You shamed both me and your mother!”

And then something unusual happened - Anna's eyes filled with tears. At least, the one still open. “Please, Grandma... don't tell Mom. I'll behave from now on, I promise.”

Lady Angeline let out a long sigh. It was difficult to get angry with her granddaughter. "Why did you do that, Anna?"

"I told you, Grandma! That nasty brat said that Mom's a whor...!”

_“Please!”_ The old lady interrupted, pressing the septum of her nose with two fingers. “Please, don' _ever_ say that word again in my presence, Anna Croft, or you'll regret it, I promise.”

"It's the word she used." Anna gritted her teeth.  “And she wasn't the only one. They say I don't know who my father is because my mother goes to bed with any man she finds...”

So high school girls were into gossip now - but Lady Angeline wasn't fooled. Girls only repeated what they heard from their mothers and grandmothers. The British ladies.

_Bunch of hags_ , Lady Angeline thought, outraged.

 

* * *

 

A huge bunch of hags, yes. Lady Croft could mention several of them, including, of course, Lady Rochford. The blindfold had fallen from her eyes not so long ago, during a tea party in Lady Kipling's manor, the kind of gathering that elderly ladies enjoyed.

Or at least she'd enjoyed it – until _that_ day.

"Tell me, dear Angeline, how's your granddaughter?" The hostess innocently asked, unaware that she was going to unleash hell.

"Spending the summer with her mother, thank you for your concern, Jane," the aforementioned politely replied.

“Oh!” A newcomer to the circle jumped – Lady Rogers, toward who Angeline didn't feel much appreciation. “Where did she take the poor girl this time? Somalia? Zimbabwe?” And burst out laughing, implying the absurdity of the proposal.

Lady Angeline gifted her with her most hurtful sideways glance. Yes, she definitely didn't appreciate that _new rich_. “Sri Lanka.” She said, harsher than anticipated. “The Earl of Farrington commissioned my daughter to find an old piece of very valuable amber. The Teardrop of Brahma.”

“Ah, such a poetic name.” Lady Rochford sighed, distracted.

"Since when do you care about what your daughter's up to, dear Angeline?" Said Lady Rogers, slightly annoyed by Lady Croft's attitude. "I thought you weren't very enthusiastic about her lifestyle..."

"When my granddaughter's involved," said Lady Croft again, "I try to know what my daughter's up to.”

Lady Kipling cleared her throat. “Come on, come on ladies. Let us _not_ ruin this pleasant conversation.” She turned kindly to Lady Angeline. “No one doubts that your daughter knows how to take care of herself, of course little Lady Anna will be safe...”

_“Ha!”_ Cried Lady Rogers, and yes, this time she was exceeding her limits. Lady Kipling paled and Lady Croft stiffened in her chair.

"By the way," Lady Rochford said suddenly, "did you say _the Earl of Farrington?_ The same one whose son was rejected by your daughter Lara so many years ago, right?” And she blinked innocently.

Lady Croft let out a long sigh. _I thought I'd been invited to a tea party, not a deadly trap._

"No," she corrected. "Actually, it’s the current Earl of Farrington, and his wife, who have commissioned her to retrieve the amber stone."

"Your daughter's former _fiancé_ has sent her on a mission, and she accepted. Well, well.” Lady Rogers was spinning her tea cup, a clearly rude gesture no old lady would've consciously done.  “This is getting really, really interesting.”

"What are you insinuating, Kelly?" Lady Kipling jumped, annoyed at the situation. "The Earl of Farrington's married with six children.”

“Yes, but one would expect him to have some sort of grudge...”

"My daughter canceled the engagement many years ago," Lady Croft snapped again. "That's in the past."

“But your daughter's still single.” Lady Rochford sighed. "Of course the splendid Earl of Farrington is already taken, she missed her chance, but there's no doubt that little Anna needs a father..."

That pair of hags had allied to ruin her afternoon - but Lady Croft would _not_ have it for a second more. Sighing, the old lady set down the tea cup on the flowering saucer and turned to Lady Kipling, while saying and smiling with extreme sweetness, "Sorry, dear Jane, but I'm afraid this tea is making me ill. I'd better go home and get some rest.”

The hostess, pale as a dead body, could not answer, nor even call her butler to accompany her to the door. But Lady Croft didn't need to be told where the door was. She took her purse and her hat, and walked elegantly toward the door. Before leaving, however, she turned to the suddenly silent ladies, and commented: “By the way, my granddaughter _has_ a father.” And she turned ostentatiously. “Actually, you should know, Kelly.”

 

* * *

 

Who could tell her she'd end standing up for _that man_. The world was indeed a strange place.

Lady Croft could no longer endure the double play of malicious conversation.

What if Lara had been right about the British ladies and lords – and about her parents themselves, all those years? What if...?

_Bunch of hags_ , the old lady thought again as she looked at her troubled granddaughter.

Actually, Lady Angeline Croft didn't hate Kurtis Trent. She _didn't_ hate him. How could she? He was her granddaughter's father, no matter how much _that_ displeased her.

Simply, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get used to him.

The first time she'd seen him she'd felt disgusted. That scoundrel, vicious, rascal look... on one hand, not surprising her daughter had entangled with such an individual. Only God knew what kind of men she'd frequented.

The strange thing there is that Lara had had a child with him. Lady Angeline was sure it was accidental. Anna hadn't been a desired daughter, she could _not_ picture Lara being a mother at all. She didn't understand why she'd decided to keep her - but she thanked her with all her soul. The old lady loved that granddaughter with all her strength. She'd loved her from the first moment she'd laid her eyes on her, when she'd held her in her arms. With that child, Lady Angeline could redeem herself from what was no longer possible between her and Lara.

She'd almost taken for granted that dealing with Lara would be her main concern, but it turned out that the father _did_ care about the child... and he wasn't willing to get out of the way either. Lady Croft would've never expected that - he didn't look like a decent father anyway, so he probably stayed to raid Croft Manor.

Yes, sure - a stray bullet who intended to suck all her daughter's wealth. Good thing Lara hadn't even considered marrying him. Fortunately, that wealth was Lara's only – for she’d been deprived of the Croft's ancestral fortune years ago. Therefore, Lady Angeline was almost glad that Lord Henshingly - may he rest in peace - had disowned her.

Yet again, the old lady was astonished to see _that man_ had not touched a single penny of Lara's fortune. He didn't even live in the manor all year, but used to be absent for long periods of time, though he always came back.

Lady Croft didn't get it. What was _that man_ doing there? What did he want?

Not for a moment she considered that individual – that rogue-looking individual – always came back because he loved his daughter and her mother, whom he'd not married yet – and speaking of which, neither seemed to care about that at all.

 

“My poor boy.” Marie Cornel murmured, wrapping herself in the blanket as she rocked herself softly on the porch rocker.

Kurtis, sitting on the entrance steps, took the cigarette out of his mouth and turned to look at his mother. In recent years, Marie had aged considerably, as if the disappearance of the great shadow that had ruined her life, instead of alleviating her had collapsed on her. She'd been a tall, strong woman until her sixties, and in the last fourteen years she'd been shrinking and dwarfing, like a butterfly becoming a chrysalis. Her long, thick hair, black as a raven's wing and with barely two or three gray locks until that moment, had suddenly turned completely white.

Marie Cornel was fading away, but she'd never been as happy as in those last years. She'd never felt so at peace.

“My poor boy.” She murmured in her tired but calm voice. “So that's all?”

Kurtis looked her up and down and frowned. “Looks like you don't care either.”

_"Either?"_

“Lara. She wasn't impressed.”

“She's right.”

The ex-legionnaire snorted and put the cigarette between his teeth again. “After everything you've seen...”

_“Precisely_ after everything I've seen.” The old woman smiled and wrapped herself a little more in the blanket. She had her eyes lost on the horizon. "Wife of a Lux Veritatis, mother of a Lux Veritatis and now, grandmother of a Lux Veritatis." She shook her head and laughed quietly. "Who would tell me.”

For a moment silence fell on the outside of the large cabin - only the crickets could be heard in the distance, and some mooing from the fenced-in cattle. The red sun was slowly falling, trimmed against the desert horizon.

“It _shouldn’t_ have happened”. Kurtis murmured at last.

"But it happened," Marie replied in turn. "It's better that way. You could've had a son and then Marcus wouldn't have left him alone.”

“Marcus' dead - and if he'd survived, I would've let him approach my son as much as he would've approached Anna.” He dropped the cigarette to the floor and stepped on it abruptly as if to finish his words.

“He was a harmless old man.”

"He was one of the Elders, Mother - the Wise made flesh. His words were poison.”

“Nice post-mortem tribute to the one who sacrificed himself for Anna. Remember that she came back and... could be born, thanks to him.”

“The debt's paid. I owe him nothing. All my life taking his shit and the rest of the Order's. It was over.” Kurtis let out an exasperated sigh. "And now it all begins again.”

Marie raised an eyebrow. “You forgot a little detail - well, hundreds of little details.”

"Enlighten me." His son's tone was sarcastic.

“For starters, Anna's alive thanks to the Gift.”

“You think I don't know?” The ex-legionnaire turned his head sharply and glared at her. “Thank you, but Lara has already reminded me a hundred times. That son of a bitch almost blew my daughter's head off. Outwardly it looked like almost nothing, but she was bleeding inside – _dying_ actually, and I left her lying in a filthy hospital room to go find Lara, whom, by the way,” he made a sharp gesture with his hand, “I barely managed to rescue.”

Marie shook her head slowly. “You've not changed at all. You still like to whip yourself.” She pulled her back from the rocking chair, moving forward a little. "The fact is you got them out of there, both of them. You on your own. And the Gift healed her, saved her. What do you complain about? Eckhardt's dead. Karel's dead. Giselle, Bathsheba, all those Cabal fuckers are dead. Both you and Lara have cleaned the world of that filth. Anna won't deal with what you and me have dealt with. She won't endure what we all have endured. You even locked the Vortex gates. You made a safer world for her. Anna's not another link in the chain - Anna's a new beginning.”

Kurtis didn't answer but kept silently staring at the horizon. “The new beginning of what?” He said after a while. “Why be Gifted in this _new, safe_ world?” There was a certain irony in his voice. "She's a girl. It's wrong.”

“There have been Gifted women in the Order – they were rare, very rare, but...” She paused for a moment, frowning. "Does she know already? "

Kurtis shook his head slowly.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Lara has left it in my hands - ultimatum included.” He smiled at the memory of the harshness with which the British explorer had scolded him.

"Why didn't she tell her herself?"

“It has to be me - my daughter, my legacy.”

“What does she know about...all this? The Lux Veritatis, the Cabal, the _Nephili_...”

Kurtis sighed. “Almost all of it. Lara and I have few secrets with her. She just doesn't talk about it to anyone.”

“They would take her for crazy.” Marie sighed. “Well, this is not the first secret. She must know soon enough...and then you'll have to train her. Remember what happened to you. Don't let her find out the same way you did.”

Kurtis turned to look at her again and frowned. “You sound like Marcus, giving orders to everyone.”

“You do what you want, but Anna's my granddaughter.” She shivered and wrapped herself in the blanket even more. “By the way, when is she coming? I'd like to have her here again... for a few days...”

The ex-legionnaire was still staring at her. Marie shuddered. _Konstantin. He looked at me like that too._ As if he could see through her.

“Since when are you sick?” Kurtis said abruptly.

The Navajo woman opened her mouth to protest, but realized that it was ridiculous to try to deny it. It was terribly hot despite being autumn, and there she was, wrapped in a thick blanket that almost completely buried her.

She leaned back in the rocking chair and began to sway. Now that the topic of conversation was not _that_ tense, she realized it was easy to admit it.

"I'm not sick." She sighed, and shrugged slightly. “I'm dying.”

 


	2. Home

It may have been almost sixteen years since she'd first been there, but Selma Al-Jazeera's apartment was still a mess. Lara unexpectedly stumbled over a thick book that only-God-knows-why was on the floor, and as she staggered, struck a fragile table with her hip and overturned a glass of juice next to a pile of papers, spilling it over the sheets. The British explorer caught the glass in time before it tumbled to the ground, and after looking around, tossed it into a nearby wastebasket and covered it with scraps of wrinkled papers. Then she simply plugged the whole mess with a few more books and papers.

“I saw that, babe.” Zip murmured while not looking away from the screen, in front of his new server at one end of the study.

"What Selma doesn’t know won’t hurt her." Lara said, glancing sideways at the slow dripping of the sticky liquid that began to trickle beneath the pile of papers.

“Yeah, sure.”  Zip shook his head. "But if the princess finds out, I'll tell her it was your bony ass that messed it up."

Lara let out a sigh. "Friendship’s not what it used to be.”

"Hey, do I look like Mother Teresa?” The hacker finally looked away from the screen and turned in the chair to look at her. “Geeeeez, you look awful.” Lara had her face, neck and arms covered with cuts. “That bamboo crap’s sharp, ain’t it?” Zip smiled, displaying his white teeth.

“Don’t remind me of that.” Lara grunted.

"Good thing this pal gotcha outta there." Zip stretched in the chair, and when Lara raised an eyebrow, he added, "C’mon, babe. I got your passport in record time. I'm a fucking pro, admit it.”

“Thanks for the passport, but it wasn’t you who get me out of there.” A mischievous smile danced on the British explorer's lips.

“Yeah well, while Super-Kurt’s alive the rest of us guys are screwed.” Zip sighed. “Speaking of heroes, where’s daddy’s little monster?”

_“Daddy’s little monster_ is with her grandmother in England.” Lara looked at the juice again that was already dripping off the edge of the table. “The school year has begun.”

Zip whistled. “Poor kiddo. Surely by now the crone has her dressed in lace and sitting at a table drinking tea and nibbling biscuits.”

Lara's mouth twisted. “I'd rather talk about the bamboo cage.”

At that moment, there was the clink of keys at the door, and a small, dark-haired woman entered the already cramped apartment carrying a pile of books and papers. Seeing Lara, her eyes - large, black, and as sweet as expressive - opened wide and with a shriek she threw what she carried in her arms to one side, adding more content to the already present disaster covering furniture and floor. She lunged toward Lara with open arms, stumbling over more books and tables on the way.

“Lara!!” Shouted Selma Al-Jazeera, an archaeologist and professor of Ancient History and Hebrew Mythology at the University of Istanbul, hanging from the neck of an uncomfortable British explorer. “I was eager to see you! I suffered horribly knowing about Sri Lanka. Oh, my God, are you okay?” She touched the cuts on Lara’s face and neck. “You’re scarred... What did they do to you? Those bastards…”

“Selma, stop.” Lara gasped, writhing to free herself from her embrace.

The archaeologist released her, but only to stamp a pair of slimy kisses on each cheek, which she accepted resignedly. "I didn’t expect you so early!" The Turkish woman looked nervously around. “I would’ve tidied this a bit...”

“Ha!” Zip mocked, rolling his eyes. “First we need to find the floor.”

“You could have done something, sir.” Selma snarled, looking at him sideways. “If you ask me, this is now _your_ apartment too.”

“Princess, I got enough on my plate just trying to find my stuff in the middle of this...”

He stopped when he noticed Selma staring, open-mouthed and eyes wide open, at a trail of sticky juice dripping from under a pile of papers, down the legs of a table to the floor.

_“What the...?????”_ She yelled again, outraged, and grabbing the paper with her fingertips, lifted it to uncover a mass of soggy paper and running ink.

Lara opened her mouth...

“ZIP!!” Selma burst out furiously.

... and closed it again.

“Me!?” He shouted. “But...!”

“What are you gonna say, huh?” Selma furiously shook the mass of sticky papers in her hand. "Are you gonna say that Lara made this mess, right? Is that what you're gonna say??”

From her position behind Selma, the British explorer absentmindedly passed the tip of her index finger across her throat, displaying a charming but uptight smile.

Zip got it.

“... right now, you’re gonna clean all of this!” The Turkish archaeologist was saying, indignant, as she made her way awkwardly through the crowded apartment. “What if I drop juice on your keyboards, huh? Huh!!!??”

When she disappeared through the kitchen door, the hacker's chair slowly turned toward Lara.

“I owe you one.” She smiled.

“You owe me a new laptop.”

“Didn’t you have one last year?”

“Just for backups. I want the newest, shiniest stuff. It's all right, sugar, I'm looking for it myself. But you loosen the dough. And it will be _a lot_ of cash.”

The British explorer shrugged.

Selma appeared again carrying a mop and a bucket, which she threw onto Zip's lap.

“Now move!” She shouted, folding her arms across her chest. "Lift that ass of yours up from there and clean this mess!"

 

* * *

 

As Zip cleaned up Lara’s mess with a more cheerful face than usual, Selma listened to the news from Sri Lanka in horror. “The whole complex of temples?” She whispered, stunned.

“All of it.” Lara sipped the coffee the Turkish woman had served and wrinkled her nose. “How can you swallow this?”

“I can’t believe they blew it all away. Sons of a…" Muttered the archaeologist, ignoring her partner. “I'm glad you got out of there in time. How's Anna doing?”

“She’s fine. She hardly remembers anything.”

“That hospital... she’ll remember it. Long time.” Selma whirled the cup sadly. “Poor Kurtis, you scared him stiff. He didn’t deserve it.”

Lara smiled with exhaustion. Some things never changed, like the fact that Selma had more maternal instinct than herself. "You made me come, Selma, because you wanted to tell me something very important and it had to be _here.”_ She said, looking amused at Zip, who was on all fours picking up sticky papers. “What is it?”

“Well, here we go.” Said the hacker absently, wringing the rag in the bucket.

Selma blushed red. “Well, Lara...”

“Huh-oh.” The British explorer raised an eyebrow. “What have you done, bad girl? Copy the thesis of a colleague? Sabotage the results of a C14 test? Drop a fourth-century vase to the ground?”

She heard a creak nearby. Zip had unearthed an excavator helmet under a pile of books and was adjusting it carefully on his head. “Oh, don’t mind me.” He said distractedly. “I'm just preparing myself for when Croft explodes.”

Lara frowned. “What's this all about?”

Selma took a deep breath. "Last time I did this you got really angry, Lara, but I couldn’t miss the chance... Zip, what are you doing?”

The hacker was piling up a pile of books neatly, raising a wall between him and the two women sitting on the couch. “Protecting myself, princess.” He finished placing the last two books and disappeared behind the wall. “Alrighty then, drop the bomb. If I don’t make it, remember you owe me ten bucks from yesterday's dinner.”

Lara rolled her eyes again. “Enough. What’s going on here?”

Selma inhaled again and began to wring her hands in her lap, a gesture of nervousness and insecurity very much her own. "Remember, Lara, the Cappadocia dig? My youth campaigns. The city of Tenebra...”

The British explorer raised an eyebrow again. "What have you done, Selma? You wouldn’t go down to that place again, would you?”

Dense silence followed the ask. Lara inclined her face and put her hand to her forehead.

“Please, try to understand, Lara. I thought I could leave all that behind... but I can’t. It’s the project of my life. No one has had what I had within reach. I couldn’t…”

“You went down to Tenebra? You on your own?”

“N-no. Well, yes.” Selma tried to ignore Lara's exasperated sigh. “I've been... I've been doing it for years.”

_“WHAT?!”_

Zip winced behind the stack of books and mumbled: “Here we go!”

Lara had stiffened, staring at Selma, who smiled guiltily and shrugged. “A girl needs to eat...”

"And what did you eat, Selma Al-Jazeera? Grilled manticore?” Lara left the cup abruptly on the table. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been digging in Tenebra again for years and you _never_ told me? _Again!?”_

"I knew you'd get mad, that's why I didn’t tell you anything.”

“And you!” Lara snapped, turning to the wall of books. "You knew it too?"

"Boh, is that all? You disappoint me, Croft. C’mon, unleash hell as you know it.”

Selma cleared her throat. “There are no more manticores down there. There's nothing, Lara. I've been... my team and I, I mean. We’ve been clearing and cleaning, opening the way again. There is no challenge left for you down there - another reason for not telling you anything.”

"And why do you tell me now?" Lara was evidently annoyed. “What changed?”

Selma licked her lips thoughtfully. “I need you to help me convince Kurtis.”

Lara raised her eyebrows. “Kurtis? Why?” And then her face change. _“Oh.”_

The Turkish archaeologist nodded. “It's taken us months... but we already have them. Marie set fire to everything... but the bones had been so long there... they did not burn, they just darkened. We have them all... identified, reunited. Including Konstantin Heissturm, of course.”

Zip had peered out and now leaned against the top row of books, staring silently at the scene. Lara had bent her head thoughtfully.

“And that's not all.” Selma had braced herself. “I've been working together with Jean Yves.”

The British explorer looked up, startled. “Jean? No one’s able to take him out of Egypt...”

“I didn’t take him out. He’s been digging with his team in...”

“... Al-Fayoum.” Completed Lara, sighing. She leaned back. “Loanna's tomb.”

Selma nodded.

“They won’t be able to go in unless a Lux Veritatis makes way for them.” Reasoned the British explorer. "Sentinels guard the place very well - and they will no longer respond to Kurtis. He lost the Gift...” Then she stopped. _Anna_.

"Al-Fayoum's a wasted chance.” Selma was saying, oblivious to her sudden silence. “Loanna deserves recognition. But we can do it in the case of Tenebra’s victims...”

“Wait a minute.” Lara raised a hand. “What are you talking about? What recognition?”

Selma smiled. She was calm now. “I've worked all this time on a new book. I intend to tell everything about the _Nephili_ , the Black Alchemist and the Lux Veritatis. Pay tribute to their sacrifice. Pay tribute to the Amazon’s sacrifice. Our world has been safer thanks to them. It's the work of my life, Lara. For centuries, they fought and died in the shadows - but now the world will know.”

The British explorer had stared at her in silence, her expression unperturbed. “Kurtis will never approve.”

“That's why I'm asking you for help, Lara.”

“Why me? Go and ask him. Although I can’t tell how he will react, much less after knowing that you've been doing this for years... behind _our_ _backs_.”

Selma bit her lower lip.  “I don’t fear him, if that's what you mean. I took care of him for a while...”

"Even so, he won’t give you permission, Selma. Jean also wanted access to Loanna's tomb, and there was no way to convince him. The sentries of the fortress did the rest. No one went in there.”

“I insist, Lara: that's why I'm asking you for help. He will listen to you.”

The explorer laughed. “Yeah right. You don’t know him. When it’s about his past...”

"Don’t you think he'd want to see justice served?"

“Justice has been served, Selma. We’re alive, and _they,”_ she made a contemptuous gesture with the hand, leaving no doubt as to who she meant, “they are dead.”

“The world is not aware.”

"What does that matter? Why would he care?”

“He bled for them. He died for them - and for you, Lara.”

“Selma, it looks like you don’t know him. He hated the Lux Veritatis, almost as much as he hated the Cabal. They tortured him. They trained him against his will.” With a sigh, Lara got up, ending the argument. “Truth be told, I don’t think that putting a box with his father's bones in front of him will improve his mood.”

She turned around to locate her backpack, but then Selma said. “What about Marie?”

Lara froze. Then she turned to look at her.

The Turkish archaeologist stared at her solemnly, her big dark eyes fixed on her. Zip had disappeared again behind the wall of books and could be heard flipping through the wet papers.

"Don’t you think she deserves to bury her husband after so many years?" Selma smiled confidently. "If he doesn’t listen to me, she will."

 

* * *

 

Lady Croft fulfilled her threat. The day after Anna's expulsion, she showed up in the school with a list of the girls who’d beaten her granddaughter. An unwritten, verbal list, of course, for it would’ve been beneath her dignity to show up with a paper in hand, as if she were a middle-class bureaucrat. Luckily, despite her age, she had a good memory.

Unfortunately, she achieved nothing. Proof was required to accuse other students and no one was about to play the role of snitch. But she didn’t give up. After that, Lady Angeline demanded to look for the students who might appear particularly bruised, for Anna had eagerly fought her abusers back. Again, she was disappointed. No one was going to take the students out of classes to do a witch-hunt.

The old lady left the headmistress’ office feeling frustrated and humiliated. Of course, she was aware that could be solved if she warned her daughter. When Lara Croft stepped through the threshold of the headmistress’ office, that idiot would melt in fear. The explorer would put things in place and she wouldn’t need to raise her voice to make everyone tremble. And she would come. She would not move a single finger to help her, her mother - but for Anna, she would come immediately.

“Stop a moment, please.” She whispered to the chauffeur who was taking her back to Surrey. The Rolls Royce parked on one side of the road and Lady Croft came down to wander around the edge of the field, thoughtfully. The grass turned golden in the afternoon sun.

Calling Lara would mean to admit her failure. Too humiliating. Lady Angeline wasn’t fooled: her daughter hated her. She would _always_ hate her. All the old lady had to do was to admit that she was incapable of taking care of her granddaughter without incidents happening every now and then. Although she could scarcely have been blamed for it, Lady Croft knew that when Anna was with her other grandmother - that Indian woman coming from God-knows-what tribe - those things never happened.

It was British society. The damn British high society - and its people.

“We were wrong, Henshingly.” She whispered into the deep silence, addressing a husband who was not there. “We were wrong.”

 

* * *

 

_Tac._

Anna looked up. Something had just struck the living room window. She stared at the glass. Nothing. Maybe a bird.

She looked down and focused on her homework. Not that she was enthusiastic about it, but her grandmother would return soon and surely in a bad mood. No need for a new fight for the sake of bloody homework. She’d be done with it and go out for a while.

_Tac._

Again.

The girl got up and went to the window - and then she saw her, crouching by the hedge, waving her hand. She was still in uniform.

Anna opened the window. “What are you doing here?” She said. "Have you escaped?"

“I took the bus!” Her schoolmate laughed with her singing voice. “And I didn’t get lost!”

Her name was Catherine, although she preferred to be called Kat, if only she dared to tell anyone. But only Anna knew, so she was the only one who called her like that.

Kat was Lady Kipling’s daughter, therefore one of the few ladies who didn’t enjoy talking behind Lady Croft's back. Maybe that's why for a few years she’d been Anna’s only friend. Small, pale, blond and green-eyed, Kat could’ve been considered pretty if she weren’t always hunched over, her eyes glazed on the ground. The teachers, always cruel, liked to say that she was probably looking for her self-esteem.

She remembered Anna from almost the first moment she’d arrived at the high school: neither tall nor short, rather skinny, brown hair in an everlasting ponytail, freckles on her nose, moving always as if she had ants in her pants. Not pretty, neither ugly, it could be said, before she looked at you with those blue eyes - so powerful, so expressive.

“You know who her mother is?” She heard a schoolmate’s comment. “It’s Lara Croft!”

Lara Croft. Lara Croft. Lara Croft. Who was Lara Croft? When that afternoon Kat asked her mother, she merely smiled politely. “Sure, honey, the famous explorer. Have you ever heard of her? She visits ancient places and recovers valuable objects.”

Yes, of course she’d heard of her. Was that child Lara Croft’s daughter? That was _so_ cool! Kat couldn’t wait to talk to her.

Unfortunately, if she scarcely dared to ask to have her lunch changed because the school cafeteria screwed it up with her allergies, then much less would she dare to approach her. Anna Croft would only deal with the best, the most popular schoolmates. Kat was sure of that.

It turned out that she was wrong. From the outset, the most popular girls ignored her and turned away from her. Kat didn’t get it. Anna may not have been a beauty like Clarice Rochford, but she was nice, lively, cheerful. Just watching her was entertaining. Kat couldn’t understand what was wrong with her.

Until one day she heard about her mother again - things that Lady Kipling had not mentioned.

“That Lara Croft is a slut.” Kat winced when she heard that word. “She’s said to be a lady, but she's not married - and she behaves like a man.”

“Her parents kicked her out – for being a tomboy.”

“A tomboy, yes. And she sleeps with many men.”

“God knows from which one that stupid brat came from.” Laughter.

Without realizing it, from that day Kat began to approach Anna slowly. Until Anna noticed her presence, and let her approach.

They became friends without thinking.

 

* * *

 

"Didn’t your Mom tell you not to take the bus alone?" Anna scoffed, amused, watching Kat pull out twigs from her blond curls. Apparently, she’d come in through the hedge.

“Well you see! I can and I did it!” Kat finished smoothing her skirt, and looked up again. “Are you going down or what?”

“I can’t. Grandma’s out. Gotta finish this bloody homework. Why don’t you come in?”

“This house scares me.”

Anna threw back her head and laughed. Kat shifted uncomfortably. "Is it true there's a dinosaur in there?"

“Just the head. It was so big that my mother couldn’t bring it all from Peru.”

“Liar!”

“Let me die if I lie.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“You see? I'm alive. Now come in, gonna show you the T-Rex.”

“I told you I'm scared.”

“Okaaaaaay.” Anna rolled her eyes - and she began to draw one leg out the window.

“Wait wait wait not that way!” Kat shrieked, frightened.

“Don’t worry, silly. This way’s faster.”

Lady Kipling's daughter gaped as Lady Croft's granddaughter deftly descended clinging to the pipe coming down the window. The piece creaked a couple of times under her weight, but finally Anna landed nimbly on the floor without major problem.

“Does it hurt?” Kat asked, pitifully, referring to her blackened eye.

“Bah!”

They began to walk along the gravel path. Kat glanced sideways at the huge wooden platforms towering over the courtyard. “What is this?”

“An assault course. Mom uses it to train.”

“Train what?”

“Running, jumping, diving... if she loses her form one day a blade or a stone will catch her. She needs to be in top form.”

“Are you afraid of it?”

“Afraid of what?”

“That one day your mother won’t come back.”

Anna stood up and frowned. “What the fuck did you come here for? To scare me?”

Kat looked around her, frightened, as she always did when her friend swore. “Please don’t talk like that.”

“Then stop bugging me. I’m screwed enough without your help, thanks.”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Forgive me.”

“Nevermind.”

They walked on in silence. In the end, Kat said: “Sorry about the beating. Wish I could have done something...”

"What could you do against those five twats? Don’t make me laugh.”

After looking around again, Lady Kipling daughter added: “I warned the headmistress.”

“So, that’s why I ended up at her office. Oh, thank you.”

“They were beating you!”

“Comparatively, yes – but they also took their fair share.”

“Aren’t you afraid of them?”

Anna burst into laughter.

“And the expulsion?” Kat insisted. “What will your mother say?”

"What Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I don’t want her to know she’s being called a whore. Oh, c’mon Kat!” She exploded. “No one’s listening to us here, stop looking everywhere!”

“You shouldn’t swear, Anna. It's not worthy of a lady.”

Anna's gaze darkened. “I'm _not_ a lady. I will _never_ be a lady. I hate the ladies. No offense.” She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, uncovering the scar.

Kat stared at her. “When will you tell me what happened in Sri Lanka?”

“But I did. We arrived, found the Teardrop of Brahma, then everything went to hell and we left. _C'est fini.”_

"You forgot your _“falling from a tree”._ Kat rolled her eyes while Anna laughed. The sweet girl was very funny doing that. "When are you going to trust me and tell me everything?"

Anna frowned. “You’re afraid of buses, big houses and dead dinosaur heads. If I tell you _everything_ you won’t sleep in a long time.”

"Oh, c’mon Anna, please!"

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“Who am I going to tell?” Kat laughed bitterly. Anna was her only friend. “C’mon, please, pleeease, pleeeeeease, I won’t tell anyone.”

Lady Croft's granddaughter let out a long sigh. “Alright. Let’s go to our spot.” And taking her hand, she led her toward the main entrance of the manor, into the labyrinth, at the center of which secrets were poured out and never left.

 

* * *

 

The problem of having been drunk so many times in his youth, and particularly while in the Legion, was that he developed an extreme tolerance for alcohol. So basically, emptying a bottle of Jack Daniels in a few drinks didn’t grant him the desired effect.

Throwing the empty bottle aside, Kurtis lounged beside the cattle fence and dropped his head on the wooden crossbeams. He could hear the bleating and the strong smell of the sheep - a familiar sound and smell, among which he’d grown up - and even came to notice the soft touch of wool when one passed near him, but he didn’t move.

No, it was taking too long to work. The burning wave through the body, the tingling in the limbs, and that was it. What he needed was to lose consciousness - even for a while.

Through his slightly dull ear he caught a series of steps approaching him. He looked up and noticed a stout, mature man, dressed as a saddler, and protecting himself from the sun with a wide-brimmed hat, looking at him disapprovingly.

_“Hashkeh Naabah.”_ He murmured. "You’ve come at last."

Kurtis raised his hand hesitantly and clumsily saluted the Navajo man. “Shilah.” He answered, slowly dragging the last vowel.

The man heaved a deep sigh while looking at the empty bottle at the feet of the former Legionnaire. “So you’re aware.” He whispered. His dark-skinned face tinged with compassion. “Anything I can do?”

“You’ve got some alcohol?”

The Navajo shepherd frowned. “You shouldn’t poison yourself with that crap. Enough damage has already done to our people, _Hashkeh_.”

Shilah had never called Kurtis by his real name. Instead, he called him _Hashkeh Naabah_ , a double Navajo word meaning "angry warrior" which, ironically, suited him perfectly. Of course, the name came from his childhood, when Marie introduced him to her friends and family.

“He's a _bilagáana_ , a white man. Not one of us.” The medicine man had said, censoring the white skin and those blue eyes.

And then the boy had frowned and glared at him. The expression was both so funny and surprising that suddenly all the assembled had laughed out loud.

“He understands _diné bizaad!_ ” The old man murmured, surprised.

“Of course he understands!” Marie protested, offended. “He's my son! I speak to him in the Diné language since birth.”

And Shilah, who was then no more than a boy, had laughed: “Look how angry he is!” The kid continued frowning, without uttering a word. “This one’s gonna be a tough one!”

And they called him _Hashkeh Naabah_ \- Angry Warrior, to such an extent that few bothered to utter his true name.

Kurtis didn’t give a damn, and even less being slightly drunk. “If you didn’t bring alcohol, then get the hell outta here.” He mumbled, sulky.

"Well, turns out you're leaning against the fence. I've got to take your mother's cattle for a while.”

Kurtis didn’t move a bit. He stared at him, his eyes reddened. “How long have you been aware?”

Shilah sighed. Then he crouched beside him and took off his hat. “Last spring.” He started to fold and unfold the hat in his hand, feeling awkward. "We found her lying on the road, unconscious. We immediately took her to the hospital and she went through all kinds of tests. The truth jumped out almost immediately: bone cancer. I'm sorry, _Hashkeh_. We wanted to tell you right away, but she forbade us.”

“Of course, she forbade you.” Kurtis muttered sarcastically, glancing at the empty bottle, as if expecting it to be filled again. “Thank you, it’s good to know before I get to bury her.”

“You should have seen how she got because we took her to the hospital”. Said Shilah, avoiding reproach. "If anyone can persuade her, it's you."

The ex-legionnaire shook his head slowly. “She won’t go anywhere, she won’t follow any treatment. In any case, it's late.”

The Navajo shepherd tipped his head. For a moment, there was only the soft bleating of the sheep in the enclosure. “How long?” Shilah wondered.

Kurtis shrugged. “Weeks, months... who knows.”

Putting his hat back on, the Navajo shepherd sat up. “You should bring your daughter. So that she can see her... to be with her while she can. Although here will always be a place for her, among us. We are her people... and yours, too, _Hashkeh_. You’ll always have a home here.”

Kurtis smiled bitterly, his gaze lost _. Lara’s my home. Anna’s my home. Wherever they are, that’s my home_.  But he didn’t say it aloud.

“C’mon.” Shilah sighed, holding out his hand. "Get up. Where’s your wife? She should be here, with you.”

“She's not my wife.” And he tried not to think about the strong argument they had, the harsh words they had addressed to each other.

_Coward_. Yes, he was a coward. Why was he so scared? It was madness. His mother was dying, and that was not even which tortured him the most.

“Well, your mate, or whatever. You white people are weird, having children with women you don’t even marry – and not knowing which name to put to that combo.”

“Now I’m white?”

Shilah smiled, showing a row of yellowing teeth, the result of chewing tobacco for years. “Only partly, _Hashkeh_. Only partly.”

 

* * *

 

Clarice Rochford finished storing her books in her locker and walked through the quiet corridor, out to the school gardens. Most of the students were gone, but she, as always, had spent a little more time asking about the last lesson. She was a good student, popular, and of course, she enjoyed taking every chance available to polish her good relationships with the teachers.

She trotted, whistling happily, as she passed through the flowered hedges. Surely the chauffeur would be tired of waiting for her at the entrance. He was new and unaccustomed to the behavior of the highborn. Well, he'll get used to it.

Suddenly Clarice heard a rustling of leaves behind her. Before she could turn, long, skinny arms wrapped around her and pulled her back. A shrill scream was drowned out by the hand that suddenly covered her mouth. Without knowing how, she ended up dragged under a hedge and thrown to the ground, damp with fresh soil.

A shape hovered over her. Even in the afternoon sun she saw the metallic scissors flashing in the hands of her attacker - scissors suspiciously like those used in sewing class.

It had to be a nightmare. There was Anna Croft straddling over her, with that mad, dirt-soiled face, her scrambled hair full of leaves, her hand tightening her mouth and the scissors moving close to her.

"Scream," she threatened, her teeth clenched, "and I cut you."

Clarice looked at her in horror, then nodded slowly. Anna withdrew her hand, but only to move it to her long, beautiful golden braid, and begin to wrap it in her hand.

“You're messing up my hair.” She protested in a frightened voice.

“Hair can be washed.” Anna muttered. "Y’know what else? It grows again when cut.” And then she opened the scissors and brought them to the tangle of golden hair.

Clarice screamed. Instantly Anna tugged at her hair tightly, twisting her head and pulling the scissors close to her face: “What did I just say, you cunt!”

The little lady's tears broke. “Please... please don’t cut my hair...”

“Why not? You need a lesson. You like to go around talking shit about my mother. Maybe when you’re bald you won’t feel like insulting her.”

Clarice began to sob incoherently. Anna rolled her eyes.

“You... you... you’re expelled...”

_“I know, right?”_ Anna showed a crooked smile. “I’m expelled, in my house, away from here, watched over by my grandmother. Who will believe you when you tell them that Anna Croft left your head looking like a monkey's ass?”

“Please, please…”

“Wow, you're not so cheeky now, are you? How whiny.” The girl let out a long sigh. “This is not as fun as I expected.”

“Please! I promise I will _never_ again insult your mother!”

Anna shrugged. “Too late, you idiot.”

Clarice was thinking at full speed. “It wasn’t me! I... I heard it from others! Older people!”

“Why should I care? My problem is you and your filthy mouth, telling lies out there.”

“Please... leave me be... I will never say anything else... I will not mess with you again.”

“Nor with my parents?”

“Not with your parents. I swear!”

“You won’t mess with Kat either. _Catherine_.” She hastened to correct, remembering that no one called her that.

“Catherine? What’s Cath...?” Anna started to close the scissors over her trapped hair. “Okay, okay, neither with her!” She jumped, terrified.

She let out a sigh of relief when Anna let her go and stood up. She raised her hand to her aching scalp, and looked bleakly at her mud-stained uniform.

“You’re a demon.” She snapped.

“As if you know shit about demons.” Anna waved the scissors back into her face. "If you tell someone about this, I'll come back and finish the task."

Without looking back, she emerged from the hedge. A few yards away, she dropped the scissors into one of the litter bins. Then she ran.

She still had half an hour before her grandmother returned home and noticed her absence. She ran and ran, laughing out loud, until she reached the green hills of Surrey.

She’d never felt so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so… I don’t know what the hell is this, but sure it looks like the second chapter of my fanfic in-progress, The Legacy, sequel to The Awakening.  
> As a second chapter it’s still a presentation of each character and the role they will mostly follow on the plot. That’s why there are too much dialogues and not a drop of action - which concerns me about if this could be called a TR fanfiction. Anyway, in the worst scenario it will be always useful for English and writing practice.  
> I hope this lives up your expectations and, in any case, feel free to leave a review on it - that will be really appreciated :D


	3. Fracture

 

For a while, his dull mind had floated in unconsciousness - but then images danced again before his eyes. _Lara_. And her harsh, hurtful words, and that laughter which had destroyed him.

_Waiting? For what?_

 

* * *

 

“Waiting? For what?” She had said, staring at him. Damn, everything was easy for her. Too easy.

“This can’t be done like this. Drop the bomb without anything more.” He’d replied, still half dressed.

Kurtis had just left Anna in Croft Manor with her grandmother - that weird old lady who peered at him behind curtains - and then met Lara in a London hotel, for she had no desire to cross paths with her mother.

Not that he cared at all. They had been in much worse places. As soon as he’d opened the suite door, he’d immediately lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed while she laughed.

That happiness had lasted half an hour. Then, everything went to hell.

Sitting in a lotus position, with the sheets still tangled around her waist and her long, brown hair falling between her breasts, Lara watched him dress abruptly after she’d brought up the damned subject up again – with that glance of hers, halfway between disbelief and impatience. “Waiting will only worsen things.” Lara brushed a damp lock of hair off her face. “The sooner she knows, the better.”

Kurtis didn’t answer. He slipped into his pants and began to fasten the belt.

She knew better than to provoke him when he insisted on silence. She shouldn’t have provoked him - but she did it anyway. “What are you afraid of?”

Lara watched him stand still, his broad back, still pearly with sweat, suddenly stiff. He didn’t turn around. “What do you think I'm afraid of?” He answered, her voice seemingly calm, but with a point of tension she knew well.

“You tell me.” Lara kicked the sheet away. “I didn’t expect this from you. Well, actually, I did.”

She jumped up and began to dress too. Out of the corner of the eye she saw Kurtis turning toward her and staring at her - that intimidating glance that could not actually intimidate her, but still make her shiver.

She shouldn’t have fought back. But she did anyway.

“You _shouldn’t_ project your fears on Anna.” Lara said as she slid into her jeans. “You'll spoil her.”

“I _haven’t_ projected anything on her.” Kurtis muttered. “Except for that damn… _thing_.”

Lara let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s no big deal.”

_“What?”_ He was looking at her with a strange expression, confused and angry at the same time.

She should have stopped - but she didn’t. “You're making a mountain out of a molehill. Yes, Anna has inherited the Gift, so what? If not for that _damn thing_ , as you call it, she would now be dead.”

“Oh yeah, thanks, that’s true. I didn’t notice.” Kurtis snorted. "Guess that solves all my problems."

Lara glared at him. Then she began to fasten her bra. “Leave the sarcasm to me.”

"As you wish, M’lady.”

She felt a bitter aftertaste in her mouth upon hearing that nickname.

“If you don’t tell her, I will.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“My daughter, my legacy.”

“Fair enough. Some responsibility at last.” Lara slipped her top over her head.

He was half dressed, sitting up in bed, just wearing his pants. His gaze had changed from angry to hurt – or maybe bewildered? “What _the hell_ did you just say?” He whispered, dragging the words.

“I know how this ends.” She brushed her hair away from her face and began to brush it furiously. "You really want her to find out the same way you found out? I haven’t raised her all these years to be completely fearless so that now so much secrecy can mark her.”

“What do you know about that, anyway?” Kurtis's jaw tightened.

_Huh-oh_ , Lara thought. She’d realized too late. “I know what happened. Your mother told me. Years ago, when... " She waved her hand, absentmindedly, "when she healed me of that bullet wound.”

Kurtis shrugged, an ironic and irritated gesture. “Great. What else have you told each other behind my back? My first pimple? My first time getting drunk? My first girlfriend?”

Lara raised her eyebrows, wry. “I thought we don’t talk about our previous partners.”

“Forget it.” Kurtis turned, caught his T-shirt off the floor and slid it over his torso.

But she didn’t stop. She went on while braiding her hair: “I know this bothers you...”

“Lara...”

“... but there’s nothing to fear. Our enemies are dead, and the gates of the Vortex are closed...”

"There are demons still around the world, okay?" Kurtis spread his arms at his sides, and suddenly he looked like a crucified man. “And in case you didn’t notice, Anna has just become a magnet for them. They may take a while to find her, but they will come.”

Lara let go of the braid half-done, approached him and took his hands. They were cold, despite the still-charged atmosphere of the room. “Well then, we'll send them back to hell!” She shrugged. “But don’t hide this from her, it will be worse!”

Kurtis let out an exasperated sigh. "You still don’t get it, do you?" He let go Lara's hands and began to open and close his own hands, staring helplessly at them. "I've lost the _fucking powers_! I have _nothing_ to defend her with. I have _nothing_ to teach her with. She's the last one now... and she's _alone.”_

“She has you. She has me.”

"The first strong demon I cross paths with will kill me. Now I'm like a child to them, Lara. And then there will be no one standing between them and the both of you.”

Lara let out an exasperated sigh and got up. “Let them come! I've fought them before, and I'll do it again. Without your bloody Gift! Let them come if they dare.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve no clue.”

“What?”

_I’m the one who saw you shattered on that altar, the only one who survived. It was me, damn it, the only one left. The one who saw you gutted, raped, murdered. And her, with you. Just me. The one who brought you back._

“Whatever.” He only said, and got up heavily from the bed.

“You’re a coward.”

 

* * *

 

Sunlight burned him, hurting his eyes, but he didn’t bother to move. The sky, too blue, torn, hurtful. His dry mouth. His lips were beginning to crack.

Kurtis lifted the bottle he’d found the day before after checking the basement. It didn’t look like it was in good shape, but what did it matter? Not the worst thing he'd ever had.

He took a long sip.

_Coward_.

 

* * *

 

For an instant, the word floated in the air, between them two.

Then Kurtis turned slowly toward her. “I am _what?”_

“A coward.” She repeated ruthlessly, those sensual, coral lips, which he’d devoured minutes before, which he’d devoured for years. “The Demon Hunter, who fights all demons except his own.”

Kurtis breathed in and out deeply, as he felt the blood rise to his head amidst hot, painful, throbbing waves. “Enough, Lara.”

“Why? Did I touch a nerve?”

His ears began to ring. “I'm a coward, yeah.” He mumbled, spitting word for word. "I’m the _coward_ who sacrificed himself for you and served you my long-desired revenge on a silver platter. I'm the _coward_ who fought and bled for you when the last Nephilim wanted to use you for his disgusting breeding project. I’m the _coward_ who delivered himself into the hands of his enemies in exchange for your freedom. I’m the _coward_ who offered to die in your place, who gave his powers to bring you back. I'm the _coward_ who came to rescue you from those Sri Lankan killers. I'm exactly _that_ kind of coward.” His breathing had become agitated and his eyes glazed.

Lara paled. “You know that's _not_ what I meant.” She protested.

"And what did you mean, M’lady?" His voice was bitter. "Will you ever take anything seriously?"

“What are you talking about?”

"I don’t blame you for dragging Anna into a war zone. You couldn’t possibly know. But then you left her lying on the ground to run after that bastard and get caught by the guerrillas. I had to leave Anna dying in a filthy hospital to go back for you and get you outta there. And even then, you acted like it was all a game.”

Lara raised her eyebrows. "Well, it's not like you seemed very upset about the idea. As far as I know, it was good for you I was so into _the game.”_

Kurtis tried to remove the image from his mind of their two bodies, mud-and-bloodied, entwined rhythmically on the jungle ground. “Why are you doing this?” He shrugged desperately. “During all these years, this has worked because of my patience and letting go of everything you did.”

“Everything _I did?”_ She panted indignantly.

“Do you _ever_ listen to me? What am I to you? The guy you screw from time to time?”

Lara rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Enough. We'll talk again when you’re not moody.”

She felt his grip on her arms as he turned her around as if she was a top, to face him. Lara squirmed, annoyed. “Let me go.”

"Why do you act like this is no big deal?"

“It’s _not_ a big deal. It's just you, seeing demons everywhere. Who’s unable to overcome the past.”

Kurtis released her. "You don’t give a shit about what I think, do you? If I don’t tell her, you will. Fuck what I want.”

"What you want is to lock Anna in a crystal cage so she doesn’t break." Lara snorted contemptuously. “And if I let you, you’d do the same with me.”

He raised his hands helplessly. “Sorry for caring about you.”

Lara let out a sigh of exasperation. “I've told you a thousand times. I can take care of myself... and Anna will, too. You don’t need to be always after us. I don’t need you.”

 

* * *

 

_I don’t need you._

One sip.

_I don’t need you._

Two sips.

_I don’t need you._

Three sips.

 

* * *

 

He stared at her in silence for a few seconds. There was only the sound of his agitated breathing. “Alright.” He murmured. "You've never needed me. I could disappear right now through that door,” he raised his hand to point it out, “never to return, and you’d give no fucks about it.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“What am I to you?” He repeated, his teeth clenched. "How much do you care?"

“I’m done with this.” Lara said, and pulled away from him.

He grabbed her by the arm again and pulled her toward him. Then she felt the touch of his lips on her ear: “If I asked you, would you marry me?”

Lara froze for a moment, stunned. Then she turned to him. "Are you proposing in the middle of an argument? Now that's original. Congratulations, you’re the first one to do so.” And then she laughed.

She _shouldn’t_ have laughed.

But she did anyway.

 

* * *

 

_Now that’s original. You’re the first one to do so._

The gang of suitors. The way they looked at her. Her smile, condescending. That mass of puppets that crowded to court her.

Only the boldest dared to propose. Most just wanted to sleep with her. And some would be content with laying a finger on her for a while, even if it was in the middle of a dance.

Jealousy. Anger. It was wrong, he knew it. She was free. Besides, she had been his ever since they met. As much as he was hers.

Even so, she enjoyed that game. That bittersweet torture. He not being allowed to stand next to her. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t high-born. He wasn’t famous.

Not that he wanted to be. He wanted _nothing_ of that society, of that fortune, of that manor. He just wanted her. And he had had her.

After all they had been through to finally be together.

Fourteen years. Fourteen years of happiness.

Fourteen years to discover that the role of the unknown father, the hidden, anonymous lover, wasn’t enough.

_Are you proposing?_

She had laughed at him.

 

* * *

 

Lara didn’t see his reaction coming. Suddenly, Kurtis’ hurt face turned into a mask of fury. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the arms and slammed her against the wall. It happened too fast to even think about defending herself.

The blow hit her in the back and she gasped, breathless. Her head bounced against the wall and she collapsed on the floor, seated, dragging a lamp, the bedside table and all its contents down with her. She took a few seconds to catch her breath, more dazed by surprise than by the blow.

“You, you...” She panted. “How dare you...”

Kurtis stood in the middle of the room, staring at her, suddenly blank. Then he looked down at his hands.

Then he turned and, without looking at her, left the room.

 

* * *

 

That was the last time they had seen each other.

_Coward._

_I don’t need you._

Her contemptuous laughter. Her hurt, disbelieving glance.

_How dare you._

He brought the bottle back to his lips.


	4. Silence

“Marie? It's me, Lara.”

“Lara! Good to hear from you. What is it?”

“Would you be willing to come to Turkey?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“...”

“Marie?”

“Why?”

“Selma has something important to tell you.”

“Lara, I'm too old, not gonna cross the world for tea.”

“Coffee. A disgusting, watery coffee, by the way. But you should come, Marie. It’s not something that can be explained over the phone.”

“I need to know exactly what...”

“Tenebra.”

“...”

“Selma's been digging there. I didn’t know, but she's been doing it for years... behind our backs. She wants you to come to…”

“Konstantin.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God.”

“Actually, you don’t need to go through this. You know that, right?”

“...”

“Marie…”

“I have to do it, Lara. I’ll come.”

 

* * *

 

When she hung up, Marie realized that Lara had not asked for Kurtis.

 

* * *

 

Despite Selma's insistence to stay with them, Lara preferred to return to the hotel. She didn’t miss the puzzled look that the archaeologist and Zip exchanged as she turned to leave the messy apartment.

She hadn’t been _that_ good at hiding it, after all. They were clearly disappointed by her reaction. Fourteen years earlier, Lara had almost grabbed Selma by the neck. Now her attitude hadn’t gone beyond a slight irritation.

Not that she cared too much.

Nothing mattered anymore.

After closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and stared at the small room, not paying attention to anything in particular. Then she took a deep breath, several times.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

With hesitant steps, she headed for the bathroom while absentmindedly taking off her clothes, piece by piece. The braid was slowly undone. Then she got into the shower.

She didn’t need it particularly, but truth be told, the water falling on her, sliding all over her body was comforting. She didn’t know how long she stood under the running water, leaning with both hands against the shower wall, her wet hair brushing her face.

He had _assaulted_ her.

The man she loved, the only one she’d truly loved. With whom she’d been all those years, while others had been left behind. The man who’d saved her. The one who’d devoted his life to her. The one who’d always been there, no matter what, when, and how. To whom she’d entrusted her life. The man whose daughter she’d given birth to among unbearable waves of pain, cursing under her breath.

_That_ man had assaulted her, slamming her against the wall like a rag doll. Not that it actually harmed her. Sometimes the sex had been even more brutal.

_But that mask of fury._ Had he really intended to hurt her? _Her?_ How dare he? Who did he think he was?

She could’ve fought back. She could’ve broken his face, and she should’ve done it. But she was too shocked. Half an hour after the blow, she was still sitting there, processing what she’d just witnessed.

The man she'd been willing to share her whole life with had become a stranger to her.

How to trust him again, after what he’d done? How to know if next time he wouldn’t turn against her, attack her again, even more brutally?

It couldn’t be. He wasn’t like that. Had he lost his mind? What kind of lunatic proposed and then threw you against a wall?

Lara didn’t realize she was hyperventilating until she heard her own quickening breath. She swallowed, clenched her jaw and tried to control herself. She _wasn’t_ going to collapse. Not this way.

She shut off the tap and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. Not bothering to dry her hair, she flopped onto the bed, face down.

It’d been a blessing that Selma had called her just hours after the incident. She’d practically fled to Turkey, far away from that place, far away from him – where he was now, she didn’t know, though she hoped he’d gone to Utah with his mother.

_Hoped?_ Why did she care, after all? Let him go to hell, if he wanted to. She wasn’t afraid of him – but she didn’t want to see him _again_.

What about proposing to her all of a sudden in the heat of the argument? She couldn’t avoid laughing. Get married? The two of them? She hardly imagined a more ridiculous marriage. For all those years, they had been happy. It’d been perfect. Not always together, she focused on her journeys, he on his missions, those passionate reencounters from time to time, the daughter they had raised in common - cheerful, strong and, above all, fearless. Could’ve been much worse.

Why spoil that perfection? Why get married? Everything was settled. Anna had her last name, she was a Croft, she would inherit everything. Lara had everything ready in case she died, in case both died. Nothing would be lacking. Marriage was as absurd as it was unnecessary.

Besides, after all they had been through, that ceremony would’ve been empty, meaningless. There was _no_ stronger bond. She’d died for him. He’d died for her. What they had struggled to be together, to survive side by side, only very few knew.

What was a ridiculous marriage when compared to that strong, sacred bond that had defied death itself?

_What am I to you? How much do you care?_

She’d loved him. She’d kept him at her side. After him, there had been _no other one_. She’d been loyal to him. She’d given herself to him. She’d carried in her belly and gave birth to his daughter. He’d seen her grow up.

Fourteen years. Fourteen years of happiness.

What else did he want?

_If I asked you, would you marry me?_

Why had he probed her?

Or was he serious?

...

Had he been _serious?_

She felt a sob rising up her throat and covered her mouth with a swipe. She was _not_ going to cry. She was not going to cry, like a stupid lady. _Control yourself._

What if he had meant it? He didn’t used to joke about such things. But it was all so weird. So atypical. After everything they had been through. To get married... at that point.

_Do you ever listen to me?_

Lara grabbed the sheets in a fist and twisted them. _Control yourself._

_What am I to you?_

He was the father of her daughter. He was the only man who’d had her all those years. What else did he want?

She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.

_The guy you screw from time to time?_

She still had his taste on her lips when he had pushed her against the wall. His taste on her lips, his sweat stuck to her skin, his scent clinging to her hair. She still could feel his seed inside her, her aching hips, that glorious pain. Sex had been eager and intense.

Minutes later, he’d shoved her against that wall with a brutality nothing to do with what had led her to ecstasy.

He’d ruined everything. She couldn’t trust that man again.

Plunging her face into the pillow, Lara screamed in rage and despair.

 

* * *

 

“This is bad.” Hok'ee snapped his tongue. “Bad, very bad.”

The two Navajos, the shepherd and the _hatałii_ , the shaman of the _Diné_ , watched the man lying on the ground amidst a pile of empty bottles of whiskey.

“C’mon.” Shilah urged. "Let's get him outta here. Don’t let his mothe...”

“Marie has already seen him.” The shaman laughed softly. "She's the one who called me. Can we move him?”

Not likely. Shilah was strong and Hok'ee, although with the _hatałii_ rank, was still young, but it was one thing to tame a young colt or move a wounded body and another to try to lift that burly soldier who wouldn’t collaborate at all.

When the shepherd bent over the fallen man, he suddenly opened his eyes and glared at him. His eyes were red. “Go away, Shilah.” His voice sounded terribly husky and doughy.

“You can’t stay here, Hashkeh. The sun’s burning your soft _bilagáana_ skin.” He couldn’t help but tease, though it was true. His face was almost as red as his eyes. When he reached for his arm, Kurtis shook him off. “Back off.”

“Hashkeh Naabah.” Hok'ee said, visibly irritated. “If you don’t get up, we’ll lift you. And your poor mother doesn’t deserve to see how we drag you inside.”

Kurtis let out a half-hearted laugh. Not even three stout Navajos could’ve been able to move him, it was known. Luckily, he decided to get up. The _hatałii_ stared, stupefied, as he stood alone, though he hesitated and Shilah had to grab him. He stank of whiskey. “Where did you get all this alcohol?” The shepherd said, clutching his arm as they made their way to the porch entrance.

“The hell you care.” The ex-legionnaire muttered, and staggered again. Hok'ee hurried to hold him by the other arm, ignoring his glare.

Somehow, they managed to climb the three steps of the porch, take him inside and drop him on the sofa at the entrance. There Kurtis collapsed and didn’t move anymore. “Great.” He mumbled then. “I’m in the shade, thank you - now fuck off.”

“Hashk...”

“Leave it, Hok'ee.” Said a clear, firm voice. Marie Cornel was standing in the doorway, wrapped in her multi-coloured shawl, staring hard at her son. Then she turned to the two Navajos. _“T'áá íiyisíí ahéhee'.”_ She told them. “I'll take care of him.”

Shilah tipped her head, respectful, and left immediately, visibly mortified. The shaman, however, remained for a moment staring at Marie: “A man who poisons his body has already poisoned his soul. You’re a body healer, but you don’t heal souls.”

“ _Ahéhee_ , Hok'ee.” She insisted. “I'll take care of this. Go in peace.”

The _hatałii_ shrugged. “Call me if you need me. You know what happens to those who have a sick soul...”

“I’m drunk, not deaf.” Kurtis grunted from the sofa.

Hok'ee turned and, looking at him solemnly, said: “I will pray to the Diyin Dine'é for you, Haskheh Nabaah, to guide you through the darkness.” He bowed once more to Marie and went out, softly closing the door.

For a moment, the Navajo woman stared at her son, who had thrown his head back and closed his eyes. Then she walked slowly to the kitchen, fiddled with some closets, and came back with a flat jar in her hands. Sitting heavily beside Kurtis on the sofa, she opened the jar. A foul smell invaded the hall.

Kurtis winced as she put the substance on his face. “Be still.” Marie grunted. "It's just an ointment for burns."

He knew her too well to resist. Not that he cared anyway.

Nothing mattered anymore.

When she finished, Marie closed the jar and set it aside. “Now, tell me what the hell’s wrong with you. This drunkard I see is _not_ my son.”

Kurtis burst into laughter. “You should’ve seen me years ago.”

“I don’t want to know. But here and now... it's not you. What the hell’s happening here? I can’t believe it’s because of me. I'm old, I'm ill... it's the natural order of things. I know, you know...”

He ran his hand over his thick beard. He’d been neglecting his shaving for some time. “Not the best time to talk about this.”

“It's the perfect time. Later there will be no way to get anything out of you.”

He laughed again and sat back on the couch. Marie would’ve loved to twist his neck, but her whole body was already aching. “If this is about Anna...”

“Leave me alone.”

_"Don’t_ dare to talk to me like that, boy. I didn’t give birth to you in the middle of a damn meadow and raised you always looking over my shoulder so that now alcohol can kill you. Answer! What is it?”

Silence.

Marie Cornel took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. Then she wrapped herself in her shawl and rose awkwardly. “Lara called an hour ago.”

She saw his son open his eyes slowly - two blue, bloodshot mirrors, the only thing that moved in all his immobile, defeated body.

_Aha_ , Marie thought _. I knew it_. “I have to go to Turkey.”

Kurtis's head turned slowly to her. “You're not in condition for travelling.” He whispered with those dry, cracked and bleeding lips. The voice came out suddenly weak.

"Right now, _you're_ not in condition for travelling.” Marie snorted. “It's important. Related with Selma Al-Jazeera and... and the city of Tenebra.” She expected a reaction from him, but he did absolutely nothing – not even blinking. “Are you coming with me? Or am I travelling alone?”

Silence.

Marie let out an exasperated sigh. “We'll talk about this when you’re sober.” She turned and walked away. "I'd give you an emetic for that shit you drank, but I won’t have vomiting in the house. I’ve had enough with Hok'ee's self-righteousness.”

And she didn’t tell him that Lara had not even asked for him.

 

* * *

 

“Something’s wrong here.” Selma Al-Jazeera murmured to the pile of papers and open books. Standing in the centre of her messy studio, the Turkish archaeologist folded her arms and frowned. Five minutes later, she was still in the same position. “Something’s going terribly wrong here.” She repeated.

Zip had a special ability, otherwise rare in a man of his kind, to keep some attention in what was happening around him beyond his natural status, which was to live with his eyes glued to the screen and with his headphones blasting on his eardrums. That's why he noticed that Selma had stopped moving around the room. He pushed one of the ear-muffs away. "What’s up, princess? Finally found the floor?”

“I think something’s _not_ right here!” Replied Selma.

Zip shrugged. “Exactly what I thought the first time I saw this mess, but...”

_“No!”_ The woman turned to her partner. “Something’s wrong _with Lara!”_

The hacker pushed his headphones back to hang around his neck. “Lara?”

"Didn’t you notice anything weird about her?"

“She's weird.”

_Said the pot to the kettle_ , Selma thought, but said nothing. After all, who, of all of them, was actually _normal_? “The way she reacted is not normal. She was hardly startled.”

Zip scratched his head. “Yup. No need for helmets or book walls.”

"Years ago, she took a plane from England and stormed in here because I’d decided to reopen the excavation! You should’ve seen her pounding and screeching at my door. She was going nuts!”

“Sounds very Croftish.”

“And now... this? This is not natural. Something happened.”

Zip shrugged. “Well, that gloomy and spooky city down there, Taberna...”

“Tenebra.”

“Whatever. No monsters or shiny stuff down there anymore. If there ain’t no trinkets to steal or booby traps to kill herself in she gets bored right away. You already know her.”

“I already know her.” Repeated Selma, unconvinced. But she stood there, overthinking, while Zip was focused on the screen again.

She mentally reviewed the conversation with Lara.

She mentally replayed Lara’s conversation with Marie on the phone, as she rummaged through her thesis’ papers.

She mentally reviewed Lara's words when, laconic, she told her that Marie would actually come to see her there, to Istanbul.

She didn’t get a thing.

Still, something went terribly wrong. She knew it.

Her gaze moved to the pile of papers on her desk. A mere bunch of papers, out of the hundreds she had there. But _that_ one was special.

That was _hers_.

Approaching the desk full of books and papers, she put her hand on the pile and gently stroked the first page, following with the tips of her fingers the printed letters.

 

_BITTER REALMS_

_Report of the Eden-Tenebra ruins, in the subsoil of Cappadocia, Turkey_

_Prof. Selma Al-Jazeera_

_University of Istanbul_

 

It was ready. Her thesis, her lifelong work. She just had to send it and expect college approval. But before that, another person had to give her consent. Rather two other people, the only two survivors of that massacre.

And Selma wasn’t the only one waiting for their consent.

She should’ve been exultant, nervous, excited at the chance of finally seeing the work of her life published. Yes, they were _not_ going to be enthusiastic about revealing to the world the existence of Tenebra, and with it, the _Nephili_ , the sacrifice of the Lux Veritatis and the atrocious Shadows War. But then they would understand. They _had_ to understand.

Or so she hoped.

However, instead of impatience and anticipation in getting her life’s dream at last, Selma felt suddenly demoralized. Lara's reaction had been too strange. She’d acted as if she didn’t care at all.

_Yes_ , something was terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Navajo expressions used in the chapter:
> 
> T'áá íiyisíí ahéhee': Thank you so much.  
> Ahéhee: Thank you (short version).  
> Hatałii: Medicine man, the equivalent of a shaman among the Diné people.  
> Bilagáana: white man/ white people.  
> Diyin Dine'é: The Holy People. Powerful beings and spirits the Navajo ask for their intercession.


	5. Gift

It was a magnificent specimen, a beautiful Navajo horse, golden-coloured, black paws and mane, and a long white spot along the head. His name was Niyol.

Kurtis approached the splendid creature and patted his strong neck. The animal turned his head and, recognizing him, whinnied softly in greeting and looked forward again. He didn’t even move when the man started to brush him.

Niyol was Anna's horse, a gift from her father years ago, when she’d asked to learn how to ride. “No ponies.” She’d pointed out, sulking, raising a finger as a warning. “Not even a mare. That's for girls. I want a horse. A _real_ horse.”

Lara had rolled her eyes and murmured something about not putting a bloody barn in Croft manor, but following holiday season, when Anna went to spend the summer in Utah with her grandmother, she found Niyol tied to the porch.

Kurtis would never forget the girl's facial expression when seeing him for the first time.

Although Marie had doubts concerning Anna managing to control the horse with her still short stature, truth be told, Niyol was not _that_ big back then and by the time he became really big, Anna already mastered him without hardly using the reins, guiding him often with thighs and legs. She even rode him Navajo style, without saddle, just with a blanket on him.

Niyol couldn’t go to England - and the weather, in any case, would’ve been unpleasant for him. He lived better in the Navajo Nation, under Shilah and the tamers of wild horses’ custody, always waiting for her when she returned.

Ah, watching her daughter ride, galloping across the plain, loose hair in the wind, head thrown back and laughing - absolutely liberated. “Hey, Dad! Bet your bike isn’t as fast as Niyol! Come and get me!”

There were things worth living for.

The former Legionnaire caressed the animal's loin and buried his face in his soft fur, inhaling his strong smell, the smell of his childhood. As a child, he’d also ridden with the other Navajo boys. Although he was half _bilagáana_ , they had always considered him one of them - although he used to disappear from time to time, although he’d been absent so many years.

When Niyol arrived, he’d not ridden a horse in years, preferring his immortal, unbeatable motorbike. The first time the beautiful animal had knocked him down, sending him to the ground upside down, Anna had burst out laughing and had not stopped for several days.

But truth be told, he was good at riding.

Niyol barely moved as he jumped on top of him. He was more used to Anna's slight weight, but he knew him well.

Guiding him with just his thighs, he pulled him out of the fence and led the way to the road. Then he fixed his gaze on the horizon and spurred the horse.

His name was Niyol. In _diné bizaad_ , it means wind.

 

* * *

 

Slowly and laboriously, Marie Cornel packed the few belongings she used to carry with her when traveling. It took her much longer than expected, and at the end she stood leaning against the enormous headboard, assaulted by another sudden wave of pain.

The _Diné_ ’s medicine was starting to fail. Soon, much sooner than expected, there would be nothing to relieve her.

She’d very little time left. She’d hoped to consume it calmly in her homeland, but that hope had vanished and there was no point in lamenting over it. She frowned, determined. No, even though she was in agony, she would cross the world to find out what Selma A-Jazeera had to tell her, to show her.

She wanted to see her granddaughter again – and Konstantin’s remains, her long-lost love.

She wanted to know what the hell was going on between Lara and Kurtis. And he wouldn’t tell her, she knew it. All that was left was to ask Lara.

Then she could leave in peace.

With a weary sigh, she closed the suitcase.

 

* * *

 

He galloped across the plain, hunched over Niyol's loin, leaving behind a trail of dust. As he passed, he saw some Navajo on the side of the road - women knitting on the porch of their houses, shepherds grazing their sheep, children playing. Everyone knew him, _Hashkeh Nabaah_ , the half-blood son of Marie Cornel, who did not really look like a half-blood, who looked like his father, whom they had never really known. The angry warrior.

He didn’t want to go back - but he had to. Staying there hiding, getting drunk to forget, was cowardly and irresponsible.

_You’re a coward._

She would despise him.

He spurred Niyol harder.

Even the alcohol had not taken that vision away from him. Lara sitting on the floor, staring at him, gasping, too dazed to react.

_You, you..._

He’d shoved her against the wall like a doll. Just a moment, a second, her lips parted in surprise, her pupils dilated by a slight, _very_ slight spark of fear.

Fear? Of him?

_How dare you._

The frightened gasp that escaped her lungs as her back slammed against the wall. Her furious, hurt glance.

_How dare you._

He’d not meant to hurt her. Never. _Never_. He _didn’t_. He wasn’t like that.

He just wanted her to stop it.

_Stop. Stop. Stop._

Make her stop laughing. Make her stop destroying him that way.

_Do you ever listen to me?_

He didn’t want to know if Lara had asked for him – but in a way, he already knew.

He took a deep breath and grabbed hold of Niyol's reins, feeling the way he melted with him, the horse and himself joined in a single uncontrollable whirlwind, sweat running down his back, his breathing agitated. Faster. Faster.

 

* * *

 

Three months had passed, and Lady Croft wondered where on earth her daughter had gone. It seemed as if she didn’t care at all about Anna.

"She's in Turkey, Grandma, with Aunt Selma.” The girl replied nonchalantly, while drawing on a sheet of paper.

Lady Angeline could think of a thousand better things to do rather than waste time in Turkey with that weird dust-eater, but said nothing. At least, during those months she’d had her granddaughter all to herself, and Anna didn’t seem to suffer from her mother's absence. In fact, she seemed quite used to it.

She wasn’t dependent, she had to give her that. Anna was never afraid to be alone, she didn’t miss her mother, nor her father, or ask about anyone. She simply lived in the present, focused on what was in front of her, then got tired and went for something else. Calm, confident, carefree.

After the first month of expulsion, Anna had returned to school with no further casualties, and no new incidents had been reported. Lady Angeline was almost afraid everything would start over, but nothing happened. Even Clarice Rochford avoided getting in Anna’s way.

The old lady couldn’t tell – or maybe yes, she could tell, particularly by some terrified glances the popular girl had addressed towards her granddaughter.

She just refused to overthink it.

The phone rang suddenly. As the old lady went to answer the call, Anna stretched her arm toward the Teardrop of Brahma, the damn amber boulder that had brought so many annoyances to her - even though she herself wasn’t aware of the half of it - and given over to an impulse, made it spin over the polished surface of the table. Having started and abandoned several sketches, she was ready to approach the final version – or so she thought.

“Anna.”

The girl looked up. Lady Croft was standing at the door, visibly upset.

“What have I done now?”

“Nothing.” The old lady smiled wearily. "You must pack your things. You must go to Turkey with your mothe...”

_“Yaaaaaay!”_ Anna burst out while jumping out of her chair like a spring and running upstairs like an elephant amidst a stampede.

Well, maybe the girl _did_ miss her mother after all.

What annoyed Lady Croft was that Anna would be picked up and taken to Turkey by _that man_ and... and the _other one_ , that Indian from God-knows-what tribe.

She could hear Anna flipping in her room upstairs. Judging by the fuss, she opening drawers and closet doors like there was no tomorrow, in a few seconds her newly cleaned room would once again become a mess.

Sighing, Lady Angeline slowly climbed the stairs to help her granddaughter pack the suitcase.

 

* * *

 

Niyol had enough after a while, and gradually he began to slow down his pace until he was trotting.

Kurtis didn’t force him anymore. Panting, his body soaked with sweat, he watched the sun go down on the horizon. Turning, he led the horse back toward the fence.

It was black night when he arrived to Marie's ranch, the sweat long dried and cooled on his skin. After giving the last care to the horse, he got into the shower, shaved and then stood for a while examining his bloodshot eyes, purple bags under them and sunburnt face in the mirror.

He could _not_ show up looking like this - not before _her_ , much less before her daughter.

_No more alcohol_ , he told himself seriously, and as always when he decided something - except to quit smoking - he fulfilled his purpose.

He would _never_ hurt her. He _hadn’t_ hurt her - not physically, after all. No more than before, amidst the frenzy of love, when she’d asked him with gritted teeth to be rougher with her.

No, her pride was what had been immeasurably hurt.

She would never forgive him - but he would apologize anyway.

He was ready.

 

* * *

 

There was a knock on the door.

“Go away!” Shouted Lara, sulking, not looking away from the window.

“I told you, miss, that she was fine. She just doesn’t want visitors.” She heard the bellhop explaining behind the door.

The voice that sounded next surprised her by both its tone and the person from which it came. _“Lara Croft!”_ Selma Al-Jazeera's voice exploded behind the closed door. “Stop being an ass and open the damn door!”

The British explorer raised her eyebrows and turned toward the entrance - then she shrugged. “Okay, let her in.” She murmured grudgingly.

She heard a clink of keys outside, and the bellhop opened the door, making way for the enraged archaeologist. _“Thank you!”_ The Turk spat, not without some sarcasm, and waited for the employee to close the door and hear his footsteps walking down the hall. Then she advanced to the centre of the room and dropped her purse on the unmade bed.

Lara, looking back, was sitting in an armchair in front of the window, facing the Bosphorus. That hotel, small but expensive, had the best views of Istanbul.

But Selma was not there for views that she knew well since she was a child. She stared in puzzlement at her friend, who was dressed only in a silk dressing-gown whose left shoulder had slipped down, revealing her cleavage and proving she had nothing underneath. Her long, loose, scrambled hair fell in disorderly waves to her waist. At her side, on the table, trays of food were accumulated, having been barely touched.

“What _the hell_ are you doing?” Selma shouted, raising her arms helplessly.

Lara frowned and looked at her out of the corner of her eye, as if Selma were a fly that had suddenly buzzed close to her ear. “What are _you_ doing there, shrieking like crazy?” She mumbled. Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d spent hours yelling.

“Wow, Miss Self-Control teaching lessons.” Selma growled, folding her arms. “I haven’t heard from you for almost a week, locked up here, without answering the phone, without...”

"What do you want, Selma?" Lara sighed, as if she could not bear her presence. She’d looked back at the Bosphorus.

The Turkish archaeologist took two strides to the armchair next to Lara’s and collapsed on it. “I get it - if you’re not the absolute protagonist, you’ve trouble getting involved in something.” She muttered under her breath, and then Lara looked at her again and raised her eyebrows. _Look who tries to bite at this point_ , the British explorer thought _._ "But at least you could fake some interest in what I'm trying to do, some support on your part." Selma went on. Lara rolled her eyes and had turned back to the window when she added, "I also fought and bled for you. I was also in that damn hell, but not in person. Do you remember this, Lara?” And she lifted her blouse to the level of her breasts. There, transverse, clean, a hideous scar crossed her belly, a deep cut that had opened and deformed the muscles of the abdomen - forever.

Lara seemed to give in at last. “Of course, I remember.” She swallowed slightly and shook her head, as if to ward off a bad memory.  “I never forget anything.”

“I'll _always_ wear this mark.” The Turk muttered with clenched teeth. “I will _always_ be mutilated, Lara. I can’t even wear a bikini like a normal woman.”

“You're alive, Selma.” The British explorer challenged her with her eyes. “Others didn’t make it.”

The archaeologist nodded, covering her belly again. “Yes, I am very grateful to be alive. But if you had some consideration for me for...”

Lara's weary sigh cut off her speech. "This has _nothing_ to do with you, Selma.”

“I get that!” She jumped in annoyance. "Why did you come, then? Why you’ve spent three months here in Istanbul? Why don’t you go back to England, if you care so little about my plans? What have you been doing, mocking me?”

Silence.

Selma licked her lips, then let go of the bomb she was carrying. “Marie called two days ago. She's finally on her way – but she stopped at England to pick Anna up.”

Lara blinked slightly and looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “Anna? What for? What does she have to do with this?”

Selma shrugged. “It's almost Christmas, right? She's not going to have classes anyway.” She looked absentmindedly at her nails. “Oh! And Kurtis’ coming too.”

Lara's jaw clenched angrily. _Got you_ , Selma thought.

“Alright.” The Turkish woman sighed. "Enough. I'm too old for this shit.” And she ran her hand through her splendid black hair, still without any greyish shade. “You had a fight with Kurtis, right?”

“That’s not your bloo…”

“ _Of course_ it's my _bloody_ business!” Selma burst out triumphantly. “You're both ruining everything, dammit! All these years playing cat and mouse. No, don’t arch those eyebrows to me!” She shouted at Lara’s stunned face. “Maybe you don’t realize, but everyone’s fed up with your…!”

“Careful, Selma.” Lara's expression turned hard. "You're _now_ treading on very thin ice."

The archaeologist sighed. “You know I'm telling you as a friend - and I really don’t want to know what the hell happened... this time.” She rubbed her eyes, tired. “I just want you to have some respect for me, for this moment... and for Anna. Whatever happened between you two, she doesn’t deserve this…”

“Thanks for the family counselling.” Lara could not contain a hint of sarcasm. “Anything else?”

Selma shot her a gaze for a moment, then inhaled deeply. _“Yes._ Jean Yves called a few hours ago. He’s got interesting news regarding the necropolis of Al-Fayoum. Sadly,” she arched her eyebrows, “since right now you don’t give a damn about this…”

Lara let out a snort and rose from the chair with that characteristic grace of hers, like an antelope that suddenly unfolded its paws. Adjusting the dressing-gown over her body, she remarked, as if she hadn’t heard Selma's reproach: “Did he manage to get in?”

“No. The Lux Veritatis are still blocking the passage.”

Lara shrugged. _I knew it._ But Jean was a stubborn man. He’d been obsessed with uncovering Loanna's tomb for years...

“And here comes the bomb.” Sighed the Turk, who suddenly seemed to end the conversation and got up, picking up her purse from the bed. Turning around, she met Lara's furious gaze, staring at her with a raised eyebrow.

“So?!”

“Oh, now you care...”

“Enough, Selma!" The British exploded, raising her arms. “Let it go!”

But at that point, Lara's outbursts no longer impressed her, as they had in the past. “Well, they spoke.”

_“What?”_

“The Lux Veritatis, they have spoken.”

“It can’t be. Only Kurt... only a Lux Veritatis could communicate with them. They speak telepathically.”

"Well, Jean and the other diggers have heard them perfectly. _Telepathically_ , as you said.”

Lara looked at her in shock. "And what did they say?"

Selma was staring at her. “I was hoping you could explain it to me, really.”

“Explain _what?”_

The Turkish archaeologist smiled, mysterious and intrigued. “They said they will only let a single person pass.” She took a deep breath, then let it go. "They're waiting for Anna _Heissturm."_

* * *

 

When Lady Croft made her way to the hallway, more uptight than usual, to welcome the other grandmother, that Sioux Indian - or whatever – she had already practiced what to respond if that woman got insolent again with her. There were things that Lady Angeline still couldn’t digest, for example, her beloved granddaughter related to a tribe of Indians. Luckily, she didn’t look alike to them - in that, she’d to be grateful Anna was more alike to her father than to her grandmother - that proud dark-skinned, haughty woman who acted like she was someone special, when in fact, as far as she knew, she was just a shepherd and a midwife... and better not dwell too much on that. Just to think that her granddaughter had been born to the hands of that savage made her sick…

Her heart sank as she saw the woman waiting patiently in the manor hall. Lady Angeline had to cling to the stairs’ railing to not collapse.

She hadn’t seen Marie Cornel in two long years, and truth be told, last time she'd seen her she was still a haughty, stocky, dominant tall woman, and even - the old lady had no problem admitting it - kinda tomboyish.

But the woman in front of her was now a weak, _frail_ old woman who seemed to bend over herself under the weight of the enormous coloured shawl she wrapped around, but otherwise remained the same, if she ignored the tired, pained glance, and the white hair gathered in a thick braid falling over her shoulder.

Lady Angeline was too polite to ask, but Marie didn’t miss the horrified glance of the English grandmother. When she noticed her sarcastic smile, the old lady controlled herself and approached elegantly towards her. “Welcome, my dear.” She said in pretend greeting, and she pressed her cheek to the other woman's cheek, careful not to touch her too much. However, as she brushed her lightly with her arms, she suddenly felt her immense fragility.

There was no more time for presentations. Suddenly, an excited scream echoed on the top floor.

_“Grandma!!”_

Marie looked up and smiled at her granddaughter, who had not noticed anything. Anna jumped on the railing and slid over it to the hall - a bad habit Lady Angeline hated and had not been able to take away from her - and without further ado, she lunged at her Navajo grandmother, wrapping her in a bear hug.

It lasted only a few moments. Suddenly, something _really_ weird happened.

Lady Croft saw clearly how her granddaughter's body suddenly stiffened. She saw Anna raise her eyes and look at her American grandmother, who had cupped her face in her hands in a loving gesture, but that look...

... that look of absolute horror.

Anna's face was distorted in a mask of panic and the girl's fingers twitched on her grandmother's arms, staring at her with wide, startled eyes.

And suddenly she opened her mouth and let out a scream that curdled their blood.

“Anna!” Cried Lady Angeline, frightened. "What’s happening?"

The girl leaned back and released Marie, who tried to hold her, but she escaped her aching hands. With another scream of horror, Anna turned and dashed out the still-open door of the manor, through which the old Navajo woman had just entered.

Kurtis was just untying the luggage of the motorbike at the entrance when he heard a shrill scream and saw his daughter darting out the manor, entering the garden maze and getting lost inside. Turning toward the doorway, he saw Marie standing there, pale and exhausted. The woman shouted a single word: _“Farsee!”_

“Shit.” Muttered Kurtis between his teeth, and dashed off into the labyrinth after his daughter.

Open-mouthed, pale and shaken, Lady Croft had stared at the scene with a look of utter disbelief. "But..." She mumbled. "What happened?"

 

* * *

 

_Pain. Defeat. Nostalgia. Loneliness._

_She can’t stand it anymore._

_A sea of crosses. Konstantin._

_Love. Tenderness. Hands that embrace, hands that heal._

_Deformed bones. She collapses._

_Pain. Pain. Pain._

_A tomb dug in the ground._

_What do you see, Kurtis?_

_He’s not one of ours, he’s bilagáana. He will make you suffer._

_But I love him, Father._

_A dreamcatcher swinging to the beat of a smile._

_Pain. Pain. Pain._

_Lara, please, it's your son… my grandson._

_The earth covering the body wrapped in coloured cloths._

_Lara soaked in blood, livid, raving unconscious._

_Save her. You saved others. You can do this._

_A little boy, blue-eyed, looking angry in the void._

_Leave my mother alone._

_Hashkeh Nabaah._

_Windows bursting into pieces. Glass shards flying in the air._

_A grown man, blue-eyed, holding a bloodstained baby in his arms._

_Love. Tenderness. Her name is Anna._

_Pain. Death. Blackness._

_A healer came to us. Her name was Marie Cornel._

_Songs in the dark._

_Anna._

_It means mercy._

 

* * *

 

The garden maze was one of the many curiosities Lara had added to the manor, hiding in its heart a switch that allowed to temporarily open the trophy room. It was in the centre of it, guarded by two great Tula Atlanteans that the explorer had brought back from Mexico years ago.

Anna loved the maze, considering it her personal hideout. That’s why, when she wasn’t found anywhere, it was known that she could be found _there_ , although only Lara and Kurtis ventured in, despite it wasn’t a complicated maze. There she also met with Kat to talk and tell secrets to each other. And there it was where she went when she felt bad, sad, or distressed - which rarely happened.

“Anna!” Kurtis shouted, quickly following the familiar path through the labyrinth. “Anna, come out!”

Silence.

The former Legionnaire sighed, gritted his teeth, and continued to move toward the centre of the maze, hoping she hadn’t dodged him and escaped the other way. She was quite capable of doing it – she _had_ done it before, when wanting to annoy both Lara and him, playing hide-and-seek or escaping some punishment.

But it wasn’t that day.

Kurtis found his daughter in the centre of the maze, huddled next to one of the two Atlanteans, hidden behind the stone mass; though not so well, for he came in time to see her slipper slowly disappear behind the enormous feet of the Atlantean.

“Anna,” Kurtis gasped, approaching. “You okay?”

“Go!” A shrill screech came behind the statue. “Stay away!”

The man cautiously circled the figure and found his daughter sitting on the ground, her back against the idol, and her legs folded against her chest, hugging her knees. When she saw him, she gave him a frightened look.

Kurtis crouched before her and studied her closely. She was as pale as a dead man and trembled slightly. He reached out and stroked her convulsed, intertwined hands. “It's okay.” He whispered in a reassuring voice. "It's okay. Just breath.”

Anna seemed to calm down at his touch, or maybe it was the tone of his voice. She took several deep breaths, as they had taught her, and slowly calmed down.

_My brave girl._

“Alright.” She said flatly. “I’m fine. I’m fff-f-fine.” She opened her arms and stretched her legs on the ground, but she kept looking erratically from side to side.

“Anna, look at me.”

She sighed and stared into her father's eyes, which were hers as well.

“What happened?” He asked, though he already knew.

“N-nothing.” Kurtis raised an eyebrow. “W-well, I think I'm losing my mind.” She lowered her voice and touched the scar on her forehead, confused. "That blow I got from that son of a bitch in Sri Lanka. I think he just fucked me up.”

“Does it hurt?” He took her gently by the chin and moved his head from side to side - and then he saw it. The widened, huge pupils, almost devouring the blue iris. The slightly reddish eyeballs. The film of sweat on the skin. If he hadn’t fully recognized those symptoms, it would just look like the child had been drugged.

“N-no.” For some reason, her father’s calm attitude was reassuring. Her agitation faded. “Okay, I made it. I'm better.”

Kurtis sighed and sat down heavily at her side. Looking at him closely, Anna realized he _didn’t_ look good. She could not say why. He looked older, more tired. And the red eyes...

“I'm going to the hospital?” She mumbled suddenly. She hated hospitals.

“No, you're not.” Kurtis rubbed his eyes.

“But I'm going nuts. Something’s wrong with me…”

Suddenly she was silent and staring into the void. Her face took on a strange, mature look, as if she’d suddenly transcended. Then she turned to him. “Is Grandma Marie dying?”

Kurtis stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. Anna covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry.” He reached out and pulled a brown lock from her face. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

“What way...?” She was confused again. She looked around, frightened. Kurtis contained the urge to hug her against his chest. _Don’t project your fears on her_. At least Lara had been right about that. He must look calm, remain calm.

_Control yourself, asshole._

"You've seen and heard things, haven’t you?" He ventured, keeping a firm, neutral tone. “Images. Sounds. As soon as you touched her.”

"I... I..." Anna was babbling again. “Why is she dying? What’s happening to me?”

“Hush. It's okay.” He held her by the shoulders. "Nothing’s wrong with you." _Yeah, you keep telling her that_ , cried a sardonic, hateful voice in his mind. “You're not going nuts, okay?”

“Then what?” She gripped her head with her hands.

Slowly, Kurtis pulled them apart and back into her lap. Then he stared into her eyes.

“There's something I have to tell you.”


	6. Pulse

Marie reached for the tea cup and took it by the handle. Before even lifting it she already knew she wasn’t going to make it - not without paying the price of pain. So she instead reached out to hold the bowl of the cup and lifted it carefully.

It hurt anyway - but at least she kept it from falling, unlike many times before since her hands had become deformed and mostly useless. Feeling the warmth of the hot beverage was nice, though.

Lady Angeline watched her in silence, suppressing the urge to lean forward to hold her cup for her - an impulse she’d never had until she had to feed her disabled husband, a harsh experience. Fortunately, the proud Lord Henshingly had been alienated enough to not perceive what was happening: if not his illness, having to depend on another person would’ve killed him.

That American Indian was almost as proud and still perfectly lucid; so the old lady restrained her hands in her lap and watched Marie take the cup to her lips, then arched her eyebrows in surprise.

“What is it?” Lady Croft muttered.

Marie smiled. “Such good tea.” She looked down at the golden liquid. “One of the best I've ever tasted.”

Lady Angeline smiled politely, but she couldn’t help lying back in the chair, stiffer. _Of course_ it was good tea - the best she would taste in a while.

She looked away from her interlocutor, for it was sad to see how she struggled to hold the cup, and fixed her worried gaze on the garden maze that could be seen through the window. "It’s been a half-hour," she snapped again, unable to hide a slight tinge of anguish. “I should go get her.”

The Navajo woman continued to drink her tea as if it was no big deal. “You'd get lost in there, my dear.” She couldn’t help the sarcastic tone, but then she softened. “Don’t worry. She's with her father, so she'll be fine. Let's give them some time.”

Lady Croft had very serious doubts that her granddaughter was going to be _fine_ with _that man_ , but saying something more about it would’ve been utter rudeness.

And she, above all, was very polite.

 

* * *

 

“Aaaalrighty.” Anna frowned. "You're looking at me in a very weird way, so I'm fucked up, right?"

"Y’know what I've been doing all these years, while you grew up?"

She shrugged. “Kill the baddies, get the girl, save the world...”

Kurtis smiled in spite of himself. She was still a child... “What I’ve always done: cleaning the world of demons.” And he didn’t mention he’d also been a spy, a merc, even a freelance agent. "So they couldn’t approach your mother and you, even if they weren’t supposed to do so, not until you awakened.”

“I _awakened?”_

“The Gift awakened in you. In Sri Lanka, after that bastard hit you in the head.” He _shouldn’t_ have been that abrupt, but whatever. There was no other way. Besides, Kurtis had never known how to deal with things differently. Brutality was his thing.

“I… I don’t get it.”

“Your wound was very serious. You had internal bleeding.” Kurtis twisted uncomfortably. He sucked at talking, dammit. “But we had no way of knowing it. Then you lost consciousness and the Gift awakened in you. It healed you.”

Anna gaped at him. Suddenly she stirred. “Cool!” She said, laughing. Suddenly she frowned. "Why on earth did you take so long to tell me?"

_Because I'm a coward. Because I'm scared._ “You were not ready to know.”

“And now I am? Just because I went nuts? _Please!”_ Anna jumped to her feet and began to wander around the Atlanteans, waving her arms. “I _can’t_ believe it! I'm a girl!”

“Some girls inherited the Gift in the past - but there weren’t many of them, and they didn’t live long.”

“It's _amazing!”_ She burst out, boiling with vitality.

She was happy, exultant - of course she was! She’d no clue about what that curse meant. _Fuck_. “Anna, this is _not_ a game.”

“When are you going to start training me?” She jumped, as if she’d not heard his last comment.

He took a deep breath. “First, you have to take it very seriously.”

“I _do!”_

“No, you _don’t_. You mind being quiet for a second?” He jumped when seeing the girl opening her mouth again. “Thank you. So, if you want me to train you...”

_“I do!”_

Kurtis grunted. Anna closed her mouth.

“... you need to start by not protesting or questioning everything all the time.”

“But Mom says that's a good thing.”

_Of course, M’lady. How very like her._ “Not among Lux Veritatis.” The words had the desired effect. Anna finally stopped and listened to him, intrigued. “Among Lux Veritatis discipline is the only way to survive. Control the Gift or it will control you - and you _don’t_ want that to happen, much less in public.” _Dammit_ , Kurtis sighed internally, _I look like my father lecturing about this crap_. But his daughter still listened to him, with a fascination he’d never felt. “The fewer people knowing what you are and what you can do, the better. Calling attention will give your enemies power over you – don’t give them that advantage.”

Enemies. How could a girl of her age have enemies? But she had, and she was going to have more from that moment - just for being the daughter of whom she was. He remembered Hua Bin, and the girls in the photographs. The only thing he regretted was having to kill him so quickly.

“But many of our friends knew what you were.” Anna's voice brought him back to reality. “Aunt Selma, Uncle Jean...”

“We can’t avoid it in their case, but for the rest of the world, you’re like any other girl and you will remain so. Moreover, not only will no one else know it, but you will try to deny it. No entries in your journal like _Dear journal, today I blasted my first door off its hinges..."_

“I don’t have a journal.” Anna blushed to her ears, as she always did when lying.

“... so you will take that journal you’re _not_ supposed to have and you’ll write down how frustrated you are to have been born a girl and not having inherited the Gift.”

The girl laughed. “This is gonna be fun!”

Kurtis sighed again and ran his hand over his face. She was still such a child! “It's _not_ funny. It's very serious. No one must know what you are. No one.”

“Alright.” Anna sighed. “No showing off, then.”

“C’mon, you've been here too long.” He got up and shook the earth from his pants.

"Not gonna teach me anything now?"

"I already did. Think about it.” Then he smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Your grandmother is waiting for you.”

Anna frowned, and suddenly the joy faded. “Does she know that I... that she ...?”

“Yes - and yes. She was the wife, the mother, and now the grandmother of a Lux Veritatis.” Saying it out loud didn’t help too much, dammit. “She’s used to this and worse.”

After a moment of silent thought, the girl finally nodded. Kurtis made his way back, with her at his side, unusually quiet. After a few steps, he noticed Anna’s small hand slid between his. He grabbed it, maybe tighter than he should have.

_Don’t project your fears on her_.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She was calm, relaxed again, although with a spark of sadness, of sudden maturity animating her eyes, otherwise as curious and vital as ever - and even a certain fascination with what had just happened to her, like daydreaming. No trace of the trauma he’d experienced.

He might not be _that_ bad at talking, after all.

 

* * *

 

“What happened to my granddaughter?” Lady Croft changed the subject.

Marie blew softly on the tea, something perfectly rude in the old lady’s eyes. “Ah, _that_.” The Navajo woman commented as if nothing. “Don’t worry dear, she'll be fine.”

"You see, _dear,"_ Lady Angeline finally lost patience, "I hold _no_ high expectations concerning what you might think of me, but for just for your information: I’m no fool. Something strange happened and you and _your son_ , “she struggled to swallow the tinge of contempt raising her throat at the last two words, “reacted as if you knew what was happening. I demand, then, an explanation.”

Marie laughed softly, as if amused, and lowered the tea cup to her lap. "Come on, _dear_ ," she said in the same tone, "you looked at me in horror a while ago. How did you expect a fourteen-year-old child to react?”

The old lady looked at him, bewildered. No, it had been more than that. Something did not fit.

She opened her mouth to protest, but then the front door opened. Turning sharply toward it, she saw her granddaughter come in. “Anna!” Lady Croft got up, alarmed. "Are you okay?" She didn’t approach her, as she would’ve liked. The girl was holding _that man’s_ hand - and if Lady Angeline had made a real effort to kiss and touch Marie, she certainly didn’t plan on doing the same with him.

“Sure, Grandma!” Anna smiled and shrugged. “I'm sorry about before. I was... nervous. Didn’t know you were sick, Grandma Marie.” She said then addressing her American grandmother, letting go of her father's hand.

For a moment, as Marie gently saluted and caressed her granddaughter, Lady Angeline watched, puzzled, as they both acted as if nothing had happened. Neither she nor Marie seemed at all disturbed by the previous events.

_They’re pretending_ , she told herself, suddenly alarmed.

Then she looked at the man who was still standing at the doorframe, and a shiver ran down her spine.

He didn’t pretend - he was staring at her with those cold blue eyes. Studying her.

He knew it. Whatever _that_ had been, he knew.

 

* * *

 

“Professor, please...”

Selma rolled her eyes and, clutching the mass of exams in her arms, dodged the anguished student blocking the Archaeology’s Department’s narrow corridor. “I told you, Fatih...” She growled. “I don’t grant second chances. Prove yourself in the extraordinary convocation, as everyone does.”

“But...!”

The archaeologist groaned and hurried forward, trying to leave her interlocutor behind. When she reached her office door, she juggled with the papers in her arms and struggled with the doorknob. Jammed, for a change.

Fatih's hand appeared beside her and opened the door for her as he went on protesting. With a sigh of exasperation and wanting to get rid of him, Selma slipped through the doorway and started to close it with her shoulder, but then the pupil leapt forward and stood in the middle of her office.

“Fatih!!” The archaeologist shouted. “Enough of thi…!” She stopped when realizing the boy wasn’t looking at her, but staring wide-eyed at her huge desk. She followed his gaze... and found Lara sitting, or rather lounging in her chair, her long legs all over the table and her boots resting atop all the books and papers she’d piled on it.

“Really?” Selma muttered, exhausted.

“Holy shit!” Fatih put his hands to his mouth. “Is... is she...?”

_“Lara!”_ The archaeologist yelled. "What are you doing here?"

The aforementioned raised a handful of pages that Selma recognized. “Reading your thesis. That's what you wanted me to do, right?”

Selma let out a sigh and walked over to the table, dropping her exams. Fatih was frozen in his spot, staring at her open-mouthed. Suddenly he spoke: "Can you sign me an autograph, Miss Croft?"

Selma almost expected Lara to kick him out, but then she smiled sweetly. “What’s your name?”

“Fatih Özgen!” He exclaimed excitedly, and took a step forward.

Before the archaeologist could stop her, Lara grabbed the pile of exams she’d just left, searched until she found his name, and taking a pen, began to sign with large strokes on the page.

“Hey!” Selma shouted. "I still have not correct...!"

“Here you have.” Lara spread the folio forward. Fatih practically snatched it from her hands. "Nice to meet you, Fatih.”

Holding tight to the signed exam, the student still dared to mumble: “May I have a kiss from you Miss Cro...?”

_“Oh c’mon!”_ Selma slapped the table, grabbed the frightened student by the arm and led him to the door. "Get _the hell_ outta here!" After throwing him to the corridor, she slammed the door and turned to Lara, who had not moved one inch from her position.

“Sorry about the exam.” The British explorer commented, smiling slightly as she made the pen spin between her index finger and her thumb.

“Nevermind.” Selma sighed. “He failed anyway. So? What do you think of my thesis?”

Lara smiled slightly and lowered her legs off the table – _about freaking time_ , thought Selma - and, repositioned herself better in the chair, leaving the rest of the pages on the pile of the thesis. “Not bad.” She conceded politely.

“Oh _, thank you.”_ Selma twisted her mouth. “Coming from you is like getting the Nobel Prize.”

"Sarcasm, Selma?" Lara arched an eyebrow. “Leave that to the pro.”

“I've had a good teacher all these years.” The archaeologist sighed and approached her. “Now seriously. Do you think I can publish it?”

Lara frowned. “You’re telling _everything_ , Selma.” Then her expression relaxed. "But I have to admit you were clever - you wrap it all up in a halo of myths and legends.”

The Turk rolled her eyes. “Of course, Lara. How could I write all those things as if I were serious? It would be the laughingstock of the scientific community. I'm not a geek, I'm a researcher.” And then her eyes darkened. “But of course, those who lived that... we know it’s real.”

"How did you find out... so much about the Lux Veritatis?" Lara looked at her sideways. “Did you talk to Marie? For I don’t think _he_ told you much.”

_Gee_ , Selma thought. Again she avoided saying his name. That looked bad.

“I talked to Marie, yes.” Selma admitted. “She was really helpful - but even she didn’t have access to the Order’s most hidden secrets. In fact, she was never part of it. She knew many things, of course, as the wife and mother of Lux Veritatis... but she was never really one of them. And of course, _Kurtis,”_ She intentionally remarked his name, “wouldn’t have told me anything. It's a shame... a great misfortune that we lost Marcus. He could have told me so many things...”

“He was also a Lux Veritatis, Selma.”

“But he didn’t feel obliged to such secrecy, not like Kurtis. In any case,” She smiled suddenly, “instead of Marcus, it was Vlad who gave me the key.”

Lara blinked. “Vlad? But...” She lowered her head. “… that murderous demented Giselle burned all his writings.” And she didn’t mention what else she’d done - to order the death of the Romanian professor, out of simple and gratuitous revenge - because both knew it well.

“Those in Bran, yes.” Selma smiled triumphantly. “But _not_ those in Bucharest.”

Lara raised her eyebrows.

“Vlad had made copies of _everything_ , Lara!” The Turk's gaze had brightened.

“It’s true.” The British explorer granted, and took her hand to the temple. “I remember when he showed us the transparencies with Loanna’s writings... he told me he’d sent the originals to Bucharest.”

“And there they were.” Selma clapped, excited. “I’ve been doing constant trips to Romania, to Bucharest’s state archives. Vlad made copies of _everything_ , Lara! Bless him, I hope he rests in peace, wherever he is.” She sighed again. “I've had Zip scanning and typing all his texts and files all this time, Lara. The legacy of Vladimir Ivanoff will never be lost! And it’s time for it to come out and get the tribute it deserves.”

The British explorer smiled again, but it was a sad smile. "Congratulations, you only need to convince both Marie and Kurtis." And she turned her gaze to the window, and her smile turned into a grimace. “Good luck with that.”

 

* * *

 

They arrived in Turkey only two days later. They were a curious threesome, a frail old woman, a tall, well-built man, and a girl who acted like she had ants in her pants, not knowing how to be still. They were to meet in Selma's apartment, where Kurtis and Anna arrived first, on his bike, and just minutes later, Marie by taxi.

Selma was waiting for them at the door, smiling, but her smile faded as she watched Marie walk out of the taxi, helped by Kurtis, who held her firmly. But the Turk had more experience in the suffering and ugliness of the world than Lady Croft, for which she immediately controlled herself, composed another smile and began to embrace and kiss Anna, who’d landed in her lap as usual.

“How you've grown!” The archaeologist exclaimed, stroking her hair and looking quickly over the scar on her forehead. “What’s this? Such a mark!”

"I fell from a tree in Sri Lanka, Aunt Selma!" How easy it was to lie, even to loved ones, if it was to protect them. “Where’s Uncle Zip?”

“Who called the pro?” A voice came from inside the apartment.

Anna's eyes lit up and she stormed in there, flipping some books down on the way - not that she cared much, either.

Few things in the world managed to take Zip out of his computer seat, namely an angry Selma, his basic bodily needs, and Anna. “Where's the lil’ monster?” The hacker appeared in the middle of the mess with open arms. “Heeeeyy come here you freaky spawn!”

Anna threw herself at him and grabbed his torso like a limpet, after which he lifted her up and started spinning around while she laughed and screamed, knocking down several piles of books in the process.  “Ugh!” Zip gasped. “You’re three times heavier than last time! Has the old witch been stuffing you with tea cookies?”

_“Ha!_ Look who's talking!” Anna protested when he left her on the ground. Before he could stop her, the girl pinched a piece of flesh from his belly and twisted it. “You've gotten _fat!”_

“Zip.” A serious voice sounded then. “What did you call my mother?” Lara had come out of nowhere, silent as a cat, and was leaning against one of the columns of the room, looking inquiringly at the hacker, who shrugged.

“Mom!” Anna approached Lara and hugged her by the waist, more carefully than she had done with Zip and Selma. She knew that she didn’t like excessive displays of affection. When she noticed Lara's hand moving up to her nape and stroking her hair, she knew she’d done it well.

“I think I called her _old witch_.” Zip frowned and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That's what all English ladies end up being sooner or later, right?”

Lara arched an eyebrow.

“C’mon, lil’ monster, I crossed the line.” Zip muttered between teeth, and Anna followed him, laughing under her breath. “Gonna show ya the latest virus I've designed. Gonna call it _Gorgon_.”

"After the demon Dad saved your ass from?"

“Nope. After the face your mommy just made.”

Anna's laughter was lost in the back of the apartment. Then Lara sighed and turned to the door.

She’d fought against her own will to be there. She didn’t want to - but it would’ve been cowardly and pitiful... and in any case, despicable not to be there to at least meet her own daughter.

Selma had been right about one thing. Anna should _not_ pay for that- and she was too old to act like a teen. She would deal with the consequences, as she’d always done.

Marie had taken all that long to climb the steps separating the entrance to the apartment from the street, and she was crossing the last one aided by Kurtis and Selma, holding her each on one side. She looked directly at her and smiled, tired.

“Hello Lara.” She looked her up and down. “You look good.”

She didn’t, she knew it - but the old woman even less. Lara looked at her in shock, forgetting for a second about Kurtis, who was staring at her. “Marie?” She murmured, astonished. She didn’t have Selma and Lady Croft’s restraints, so she neither contained her horrified expression nor avoided the subject. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing not happening to hundreds of people around the world every day.” She said simply, and releasing herself from Selma's arm, she extended a hand to Lara. Instinctively she took a step forward, held her, and both Kurtis and her led her toward the couch.

When noticing the closeness of the man's body, his aroma, his warmth, Lara moved away, as she continued to stare at the fragile Marie. She wouldn’t look at him. No, she wouldn’t…

_Enough of this. What are you, a schoolgirl?_

She looked up and there were those impossible blue eyes, unique in that world, nailed to her, bloodshot. She looked back at him, held his glance. What had happened to him? He was damaged. Of course, he must have spent those three months suffering. Like her. No, more than her. No one knew how to suffer in this world like him - he was very good at it. She realized that was not comforting at all. In fact, it drove her even deeper.

And then she realized. _Marie_. She'd let go of Selma's arm to force her into her place. To be close to him. _Well played, Marie_ , Lara thought. _Well played._ No one could cheat on that old sly fox. She still had a lot to learn from her.

Slowly, delicately, Marie was helped to sit on the couch, in which she sank as if she had no bones at all.

"Do you want something, Marie?" Selma was visibly struggling to control the anguish of her voice, without much success. “A coffee...”

"No. Not a coffee." Lara cut in sarcastically.

Marie rummaged in her shawl and pulled out a small bag of herbs. “Put this in very hot water and prepare an infusion.” Lara made a gesture to take the bag, but then Marie put it out of her reach and said, "Not you. Selma."

As if driven by a spring, the archaeologist took the bag and rushed to the kitchen. Lara didn’t miss her subtle smile. _What the…_

“Let it rest ten minutes!” Marie shouted then. "And don’t come back without it!"

“Roger that!” Selma shouted from the kitchen.

_Here she goes_ , Lara thought. She was surrounded by schemers.

First things first. She sat down next to Marie and then noticed her contracted, deformed hands. "What's the matter, Marie?" she insisted.

The Navajo woman sighed and wrapped herself in her shawl. "I guess the sooner we’re done with this, the better. I have bone cancer, Lara.”

Kurtis had stood by the couch after helping his mother to sit down, watching Lara in silence. To her credit, she seemed genuinely affected to hear it. “So fast?” She murmured, looking at the helpless old woman. When was the last time she’d seen her? Months ago? "You look really bad, Marie.”

The old woman laughed softly and stroked Lara's hand slightly. "I've always liked your frankness, Lara. You never pretend, you speak your mind.” She laughed again, and wrapped herself in the shawl again. "I know, I'm very bad - but it was expected. Nothing out of the ordinary, then.”

“You haven’t tried at all...” It was a statement, not a question.

"No," Marie corroborated. "I hate hospitals, doctors, and their horrible treatments.”

Lara looked up and her eyes met Kurtis. His ravaged face took on a new meaning. He neither…? "Why did not you say anything, Marie?" Lara protested suddenly. "Are you... _dying_ , and you haven’t told _anyone?"_

"It's my business if I die or not, Lara.”

“Not even your son?”

Marie didn’t answer.

Then she heard a soft sound. Kurtis had moved, leaning against a pillar. Then he laughed quietly, placing a cigarette between his lips. _“Nihil novum sub sole.”_ He muttered, and suddenly stared at Lara. "The women of my life have always enjoyed to _surprise_ me.”

Marie stood up on the couch and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t want any drama about my condition. I'm sick, I'm dying, period.” She nodded dryly. "I won’t go to any hospital or take any treatment - it's too late anyway. It’s _my_ will, and I expect to be respected.”

Lara bowed her head, and for a moment her coppery hair covered her face. She was still holding Marie's deformed hands - the hands of a healer.

That woman had saved her life.

That woman had helped her to bring Anna into the world.

“I’m sorry, Marie.” She said, and she was honest. She looked up at her. “I'm really sorry.”

“Don’t.” The Navajo woman replied, categorical. “I lived a long life. I’ve seen almost all my loved ones die, but also those who killed them. Thanks to the both of you.” She smiled frankly. "My son’s alive, and you have given me a granddaughter - more than I ever expected. I regret nothing and I've never been as happy as these last few years. So don’t be sorry, and don’t ask again about my condition.”

“Alright.” Lara smiled. _100% Marie Cornel_. The only woman in the world she’d admired without limits.

“Now, if you don’t mind...” Marie's expression became harsh. “What if we talk about more serious issues?”

“Anna?” Lara shouted suddenly, raising her voice. The Navajo woman jumped and let her go. "Everything okay up there?"

Zip replied from the attic of the apartment: “Terrific, babe!”

“We're watching hardcore porn!” Anna's little voice screeched.

_“Liar!!”_ Zip howled.

Suddenly, Selma appeared in the kitchen doorframe, red as a tomato, carrying a tray and a cup of tea. “It's been ten minutes.” She admitted, defeated and guilty. “I'm afraid it gets spoiled.”

Lara smiled triumphantly and stood up. “It's time, indeed, to talk about more serious issues. You three have much to talk about.” She ignored Selma’s indignant glance. “As I am already aware, I will return later.” And passing the three mute interlocutors, she left the apartment with a soft slam.

Well, dodging gunfire was her thing - not even Marie could beat her in that.

 

* * *

 

He stood still for a few seconds. He’d not even lighted his cigarette, so he quickly put it away, stepped away from the pillar, and went to the door. As he stepped out onto the entrance, he watched her ride away on the bike - her own, a Norton, lighter and faster than his Brough Superior. He walked down the steps as he watched the trail of smoke left by her vehicle dissipate.

“Kurtis...”

He turned. Selma was in the doorway, holding a card in her hand, which she quickly handed over. “It's the hotel where she’s been all this time. Take it!” She exclaimed, seeing that he hesitated. Kurtis grabbed it. “Now go after her. _Go!”_ Impatient, Selma rested her hands on his chest and pushed him gently. “All this can wait. Go with her! I'll take care of Marie and Anna in the meanwhile.” And she slammed the door shut.

Kurtis held the card in his hand and turned it around. Selma had written something behind the hotel card.

_Room 202_

 

* * *

 

After parking the bike, she spent twenty long minutes looking towards the Bosphorus, next to the stone parapet. Then, slowly, she went up to her room.

She had run away - like a _coward_. She couldn’t - neither face Kurtis, nor deal with Marie. She was unprepared. And suddenly everything felt absurdly alien to her... nothing mattered anymore.

When she opened her room door, he was there. There he sat in the armchair where she’d sat for three months - looking towards the Bosphorus.

She stood in the doorframe, paralyzed, frozen. It only lasted a few seconds - then she went in and closed the door behind her. "Not gonna ask how you got in here," she murmured. “You’re the king of stalkers.”

Kurtis showed her the card. “Selma helped a little.”

“Of course she did.” Lara took off her leather jacket and tossed it over another of the armchairs. Anyway, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. “What do you want, Kurtis?”

Now that she’d taken off her jacket, he looked at her up and down. In Selma's apartment he’d realized she didn’t look good – as if she’d not slept in a long time. The condition of the room... well, it also said a lot, especially in someone like her, always so neat and tidy.

But now that he saw her in more detail, he realized she’d lost weight - a lot.

She’d suffered, too - but there she was, standing on the other side of the room, her weight resting on one hip, her arms folded across her chest. Defensive.

It was _not_ going to be easy - but nothing about her had ever been easy. One of the main reasons he’d felt attracted to her.

One of main reasons he had decided not to abandon her.

“What do I want, Lara?” He looked at her intensely. "Seriously?"

Lara's jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be here. Selma's got a surprise ready for you.” She shifted. “And knowing you, it won’t be a pleasant surprise.”

“That can wait.” He said. “It's you I want to talk to.”

“But I don’t want to talk to you.” She retorted harshly. “I don’t even want to see you. Get outta here.” And she yanked the door open.

_M’lady never disappoints_. He’d not expected less of her.

Kurtis got up and went toward her, to the open door, whose knob Lara still held. Then, gently, he rested his hand on the wooden surface and pushed it until she released the knob, and the door closed softly, with a quiet _clack_.

"No," he said, looking intensely at her. “I'm _not_ leaving. This is my place, this is where I want to be, and you're not going to kick me out.”

“Then I'll go.” Lara took a step forward, but he didn’t move an inch. “Back off.”

“Enough of this, Lara. We’re adults. Let’s act like adults.”

She held his gaze for a moment, defiant. Then she moved away from him and walked to the center of the room. When she collapsed in the same armchair where he’d been sitting minutes ago, she realized her mistake. It was still warm, moulded with the shape of his body - and that didn’t help at all.

“Your turn.” She instinctively put her hand to her head. It was starting to hurt.

“You don’t need to worry about Anna anymore. She knows. I told her.”

Lara blinked and looked at him in surprise, after evoking the vision of her daughter in Selma's apartment, barely an hour ago. Joyful, carefree, as if nothing. She was alright.

“So you finally listened to me.” Lara arched an eyebrow. "Well, that's a good start. Things will get complicated soon.”

Kurtis frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Selma will tell you - and now, if you’re done, leave, please.” She raised her arm to point at the door. And then he saw it - a slight tremor in her hand, at the tips of her fingers. Her tensed jaw.

He moved toward her. He’d taken three steps when her shrill scream stopped him: _“Don’t!”_

He stood in the middle of the room, staring at her in despair. “M’lad...”

“Don’t call me that!” Her eyes glazed. “How dare you call me _that_ after what you did?”

“Lara...”

“Shut up!” She yelled. Her cheeks flushed. “You shoved me against a wall like a trash bag! Don’t you dare say you’re sor...!”

“I _am_ sorry.” He interrupted, looking at her solemnly. "Please, forgive me.”

Lara fell silent, sitting there, panting as if she’d just run a long distance. Helpless. Disarmed.

Holy shit. He wanted to go to her. Embrace her, hold her tightly against his chest. Caress her. Comfort her. But when he took a step forward, she stiffened even more.

“Stay away.” She mumbled through clenched teeth. "For your own good, don’t come closer."

“Lara...”

“Don’t _Lara_ me!” Her eyes were reddened, fighting the need to cry out of anger. "A mere apology _won’t_ do it, Kurtis.”

_Of course not_ , he thought. But he already knew that.

“Then tell me what I have to do.” He opened his arms helplessly. “I've been lying in the sun for three months, getting drunk to try to forget what you told me.” Lara turn her face away, and the brown locks of hair hid it. “No, look at me now! I did my part. Anna knows... and you were right, she’s fine. But she won’t always be. She’ll be helpless, exposed for years, until she learns to control... that thing. I need you by my side, Lara. She’s your daughter too. And we can’t fight each other while she’s vulnerable. So tell me at once what you want me to do, and leave this torture behind.”

She stood for a moment in silence, digesting that speech, unusually long for him as he’d never been a man of many words. Then she spoke tensely and slowly. “I'll be with my daughter, but not by your side.” Kurtis dropped his arms at hearing her. “I don’t trust you anymore.”

That statement seemed to hurt him more than anything else so far. He dropped his head on his chest. “I would _never_ hurt you.”

Lara's lips twitched slightly, so she squeezed them tightly. “You already did.”

“Lara...”

“And now go, please. I don’t want you around.”

He took a deep breath. “But I'll be around.” He challenged her with his piercing blue eyes. “You can’t kick me out, Lara. This is where I belong - with my daughter, with my legacy, and so with you.”

“No, not with me.” She took a breath again. “I'm sorry about your mother, of course. I'm _really_ sorry.”

Kurtis stared at her in silence. Suddenly, his wounded face became totally blank. "That's not what I want you to feel sorry about, Lara. You can’t do anything for her - but you can do something for me. For us.”

Lara didn’t answer. She stared at him in silence - and then she saw him swallow, saliva passing through his throat slowly and painfully. “Is this how it’s going to end, Lara?”

Silence.

Kurtis lost his temper. _“Lara!”_ He shouted, opening his arms. "Answer me! Is this how it ends?”

Silence.

“I can’t.” He gasped, and turning around, went to the door. He had barely pulled it open when Lara's voice stopped him.

“Kurtis...”

He turned around. “What?”

She wasn’t looking at him. She’d her eyes turned to the Bosphorus again, her hair concealing her face. “Were you serious?”

He ran his hand over his face, exhausted. “What do you mean?”

“What you asked for.” In spite of herself, Lara looked at him again. Her face was devastated. They both looked devastated. “Were you serious when you proposed?”

Kurtis's mouth twisted in a sad, bitter grimace. “Nevermind.” He turned around. “I got my answer anyway.” And he left, closing the door softly.

 

* * *

 

_"We should work together." She said, and threw the Periapt Shard at him._

_Shocked by surprise, with the Chirugai still up, he barely had time to catch the glass dagger, and then looked at her, stunned. Touched. And the warm sensation that gripped his chest at that moment._

_"You’re trusting me?"_

 

* * *

 

At that moment she’d disarmed him.

And yes, she trusted him - like she'd never trusted anyone before.

Alone in the room, Lara held in a scream.


	7. Killer

_At first, she’d laughed at the pain. She’d had more painful cramps. She’d had to gnaw on wounds to extract bullets, place dislocated bones and twist disjointed joints. That was nothing. She smiled._

_Marie had also smiled. Be careful, she warned. You all do the same. Soon you won’t be laughing anymore._

_And she was right, as always, for that was her specialty. As the hours passed, the pain became more constant. Longer. More intense. She stopped smiling and frowned. Well, she'd deal with it. It wasn’t that hard._

_Hours later it became unbearable and she began to curse under her breath, being tempted to let go of all the blasphemous swearing and vile words she had always heard from soldiers and never uttered, because she was, above all, very polite._

_No. She wasn’t going to swear like a vulgar villager - and above all, she was not going to scream._

_In the end, the only thing she was aware of was that horrible pain turning her into a useless piece of trash. She hated that feeling of helplessness, of not knowing what to do. She hated it with all her might._

_Even Marie's voice, which calmed and guided her, dissolved into the whirlwind of pulsating pain in which her body had become, but she did feel him incorporate her, encircling her with his arms and leaning her against his chest. She grabbed him with such strength as to crush his arms, but he didn’t even wince._

_It’s ok, he told her. Breathe. I'm here._

 

* * *

 

He might have looked like a soulless brute, but he was clever and read fast. When he finished, he dropped the last folio on the table, leaned back on the couch, rubbed his eyes, and let out a long sigh of weariness.

Selma didn’t dare say anything. It had been enough to read the expression on his face when he returned to her apartment hours later. She didn’t know what to think.

For a moment silence fell between them. There was only the ticking of her father's wall clock, a distant memory in the past. Seeing Kurtis’ face, Selma had got Zip out, taking Anna with him for a walk before the girl could realize what was happening to her father. And Marie, who was so adept at intruding as she was at getting out of the way, had managed to be taken to a nearby but comfortable hotel by taxi, of course.

So it was just her and him. After all, the Navajo woman already knew what she should know.

In the end, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “So?” The archaeologist murmured, half cowering in the armchair next to him.

Kurtis sighed and pressed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Selma, Selma, Selma…" He murmured softly. "Have you lost your mind?"

The Turk released the air she kept in her lungs and dropped back. “It’s just a harmless thesis about my work in Cappadocia during the last seventeen years...” She stopped when the man stared at her with his penetrating blue eyes, and for a moment, a slight grimace animated the corner of his lips. Instinctively he began to feel the back pocket of his pants, looking for cigarettes. “A harmless thesis...” He took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth and after taking the lighter, lit it with a click. “So why are you asking me permission to publish it?”

He leaned back on the couch and slowly expelled a volute of smoke. Selma was not enthusiastic about having smokers around her, but she couldn’t find it appropriate to say anything about it. “Well, ehr...” Selma blushed slightly. “After all, it's about your story. Your ancestors. Your world…”

“And you tell me _now?”_

She sighed. “I didn’t want to... disturb...”

“… my happiness?” Now, a big, bitter grin crossed his face. “Ah yes, I’ve been so _happy_ , without Eckhardt, Karel, _Nephili_ , hybrids, Gifts or mystical Orders. But here we are, stirring up all this shit again.”

He was angry. Of course he was - and Lara had worsened it. Selma clenched her teeth and decided to resist. "I'm sorry Kurtis, but it's my life’s work. As you can see,” she patted the pile of pages, “I’ve not mentioned you, or Anna... not even Lara. As far as I’m concerned, the Heissturm bloodline ended with Konstantin.”

“How nice of you.” Kurtis took another drag on the fag. Selma didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. It was difficult to know in his case.

“I’ve also camouflaged all the supernatural as myths and legends. To protect you, and also to protect me.”

He slowly let out the smoke between the corners of his lips and laughed quietly. “Oh, Selma, you’re so naive.” He leaned toward her. “Yeah, scientific community will respect you and academics will praise your ability to tell nice tales. But out there," He held out the arm holding the cigarette towards the door, “there's a lot of nerds ready to swallow any shit you let them - and a prestigious and renowned university professor giving that inch only makes it better.”

Selma's eyebrows rose. “Since when do we care what nerds think? Internet is full of garbage, also on these topics. I'm not bringing anything new. Which of them is a threat to us?”

“Not them.” Kurtis took the fag back to his mouth. “But those who track, investigate and use them as an information channel to reach us, yes.”

“I thought all our enemies were dead.”

Kurtis arched an eyebrow. A shudder ran down Selma's back. “Kurtis...”

“I've been tracking that bastard of Schäffer for years. Still not been able to catch him...”

“Oh, Kurtis ...”

"And as far as I know, Bathsheba might be alive. I never saw her corpse.”

Selma had paled, if that was possible in her. “I don’t think she survived... to...”

“We did, why not her? But let's leave it. I’m more concerned about Schäffer. He knows too much and he’s very dangerous.”

The Turk began to twist her hands nervously. “But... but if he wanted to hurt us... he’d have already tried, right?”

He smiled bitterly. “Not a fan of talking about this, but I’ve no choice.” He looked into her eyes. “Y’know how many people I had to kill to hide the information you want to publish?”

“Oh, Kurtis!”

"I don’t waste time figuring out their reasons. Being alive has cost me dearly. Lara's life, my daughter’s life, has cost me dearly. So does yours, Selma. I'm not willing to gamble with them again.” He let out a dry laugh. “Some of those I had to… terminate, were only indirectly involved - and others had nothing to do with it. They had just asked the wrong questions, had been in wrong places, at the wrong time. I have blood on my hands because of this, Selma.” He hit the pile of pages with his finger. “And now you want to publish it.”

She had bowed her head, contrite. “I... I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you know.”

For a moment there was nothing heard in the room except for Selma's agitated breathing. Kurtis finished his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray.

“Does Lara know?” She ventured at last.

“What?”

“That you... that you...”

“That I'm a killer?”

“Oh, Kurtis...”

“Of course she does. She always knew.” He sighed. “Anna doesn’t, of course, and right now I prefer things to stay like this. She's too young.”

“She won’t know from me.” She promised, looking devastated. “But, Kurtis... I can’t destroy this thesis... it cost me years of my life...” She stopped at the sight of Kurtis's bitter smile, and then they paraded before her, like a vision, the drawers filled with the bones of the Lux Veritatis she had extracted from Tenebra. “Sorry, I'm being selfish.”

"Gotta say you’re pretty brave too, considering what I’ve just told you.”

Selma inhaled sharply and straightened. "You _won’t_ hurt me, Kurtis Trent.”

"Of course not. I owe you my life.”

“It was Minos Axiotis who saved you.”

“Not just him.” Kurtis leaned back to the thesis bundle. “So you're gonna pick up all the copies you have and bring them here.”

She sighed. “I can’t allow you to destroy the work of my life.”

“It must be purged. You have to remove all references to the _Nephili_ , the Cabal, Eckhardt – and above all, the Lux Veritatis.”

“I can’t. How will I present my thesis on Tenebra under these conditions? How to explain the bodies of the _Nephili_ that I found? And your... your...”, her voice hesitated, “... your people? How to explain what happened to them?”

“Anything before putting my daughter's life at risk again.”

Suddenly, a light went on in Selma's mind. “Again? Did you say _again?”_

Kurtis didn’t answer.

“Oh, my God...” She covered her mouth. “What...?”

“Nothing – not yet. There are always threats." He made a gesture with his hand. "But Lara and I’ve taken care of them. As usual.”

“I thought... I thought...”

"There are two types of people, Selma: those who live their lives in peace and those who do the dirty work for others to live in peace. I belong to that last type of person.”

"Even so, everything has gone pretty well so far, right?"

Kurtis didn’t answer. Instead, he lit another cigarette. Selma rose discreetly and opened a window. She would let him smoke - she sensed he needed it – but no need to turn her apartment into a smokehouse. “What happened in Sri Lanka, Kurtis?” She said, looking out at the street without turning.

“Didn’t Lara tell you?”

“Short version. She and Anna got stuck in that... hell. And you took them out of there.” She turned to him. "But Lara is not acting very grateful right now, is she? Or did I miss something?”

Silence. Kurtis took another drag on the cigar.

“May I ask…”

“You may not.”

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry.” She murmured. And suddenly she said, “Anna didn’t fall from a tree, right? That scar…”

Kurtis chuckled softly. “Did she tell you that?” She was so alike him in that. He hadn’t been good at lying, never.

“Oh my God…”

“She’s OK now.”

“Lucky they had you.”

Kurtis laughed again, but sounded bitter. “So... deal? Concerning your thesis.”

Selma inhaled strongly. “It may not be that simple. Jean Yves...”

“... wants to enter Loanna's tomb. I know.” Kurtis shook his head. "He'll never make it."

“Not unless someone makes way for him.”

Kurtis didn’t need half as much time as Lara to figure out what she meant. He stared at Selma again, expressionless.

Selma knew _that_ lack of expression.

“The guardians of Al-Fayoum said they’re waiting for Anna Heissturm. I'm sorry, Kurtis.”

The man leaned forward and rested his forehead on the palm of his hand, as if suffering from a terrible headache. "Well, someone who’s sorry.” This time, the sarcastic dye could not be hidden. “Thank you, so nice of you.”

“I understand this is not good news.” She moved away from the window and this time she sat beside him on the sofa. “How…?”

Kurtis silenced her with a wave of his hand. The news had obviously disturbed him. “Well, now you know.” He mumbled. “I won’t make Anna the center of attention for mortals, now she’s one for demons already... much less deliver her to Jean Yves to be used as a key to his personal ambition.”

“Jean loves her, Kurtis, and you know it. He wouldn’t "use" her as...”

“Oh, really?” Kurtis let out a snort and crushed the cigarette in the ashtray.

“He would never endanger her!”

“She won’t be endangered.” Kurtis laughed bitterly. “Those guardians are Lux Veritatis. They have kept Loanna’s tomb for centuries. Now Anna’s one of them. They will protect her until they’re torn apart.” He rose abruptly from the couch, grabbed his leather jacket together with Selma’s thesis, and strode toward the door as he put it on abruptly.

“Kurtis.” Selma said as soon as he opened the door. "I'm so sorry about all of this..."

He turned to her and lifted the file of papers. “Tomorrow I want the rest of the copies on your desk, Selma Al-Jazeera, including backups or files on Zip’s computer. And if you care about Anna's life at all, _don’t_ hide anything from me.”

“Kurtis...”

"I’m not asking, Selma.” And the turned to go down the steps of the entrance. “Don’t make it more difficult.”

 Again, the archaeologist's voice stopped him. “It'll get easier.” She moved closer to him, who remained motionless. Selma never knew why he stopped. Maybe because he, more than anyone else, needed to be comforted. She put her hand on his arm affectionately. "All this will get easier, Kurtis. You’ll see. Have patience.”

He let out a sigh and gently get rid of her arm. "I’ve been patient enough," he whispered bitterly, and headed for his bike.

Not even then Selma could be quiet. It was heartbreaking to see him like this. “She will return, Kurtis!” She shouted. “She's a damn big head with the pride of a Janissary. But she will come back. She always comes back.”

He didn’t turn anymore, so she couldn’t read the expression on his face. He simply started the engine and got lost in a trail of smoke.

 

* * *

 

There he was, waiting for her in the chapel, in front of the altar. Lying on the floor, his arms extended as if crucified and his cheek pressed against the hard, cold stone floor. Father Abraham Patrick Dunstan stood motionless and silent, barely mumbling a prayer. He heard the lady enter and her heels softly banging against the floor, then the soft creak of the wooden bench as she sat on it.

Concluding the prayer, he sat up, crossing himself, and reached for the bench to rise. The woman's hands held him as he rose heavily.

"Thank you, Angeline, my dear.” He was getting old.

“Thank you for coming, Father.” Lady Croft muttered, and moved respectfully to allow the priest to sit down next to her.

“So?” He said, smiling with that warm and reassuring smile of his. "We‘ve not talked in years, my dear. Truth be told, your request has surprised me.”

Lady Croft sighed and finally decided to get into the matter. "Sorry for bothering you, Father, but... actually, at this point, I’ve no one to turn to. I don’t know what to think… but this is not a religious issue...”

"Tell me then, my dear, what is it?" He encouraged her calmly. As a priest, he was used to people coming to him for advice, not always related with religious matters. If only they knew he didn’t know as much as they thought...

"I fear for my granddaughter, Patrick.” Lady Angeline decided to abandon the title of father and call him by his first name, as in the old days, before they distanced from each other.

“For Anna?” The priest smiled. “What happens to our little Anna? I’ve never seen such a happy and carefree child.”

Lady Croft shook her head vehemently. “No, she’s not. Something horrible is happening to her. At first I sensed it, but now.... now…”

Noticing her distress, the priest rested his hand on the old woman's clasped, strained hands, which writhed in her lap. “Tell me, dear.”

Lady Angeline breathed in. "You know, when she was born, Lara allowed me to return to this place - to take care of her all these years, when no one else was available. There are things I will never approve of how she’s being raised...”

"That's none of your business, dear Angeline. Be careful, your arrogance in the past took your daughter away from you. Don’t make the same mistake with your granddaughter.”

A spark of anger, of aristocratic pride, stirred the old woman's eyes. “You think I don’t know, Patrick? I spend the days watching how they drag her from one place to another. God, they're raising her like a wild colt. And don’t make me talk about _that man!_ Because of him, Anna swears like a sailor...”

The priest laughed softly. “True, her language leaves room for improvement.”

“But this time things went too far. Since she's come back from Sri Lanka... she's... she's acting weird, Patrick. She’s changed. She’s not her.”

“I haven’t seen her yet, but I heard rumours about certain student altercations in school.” The priest laughed again. “In the end, just kid stuff.”

“Kid stuff, that beating she took! Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. Patrick, I'm scared. Anna’s not the same. She’s lying to me... pretending when she’s with me. She tricks me, she’s hiding something from me. She had never done that. She had always been so frank, so honest - and that scar...”

Father Dunstan frowned. “What scar?”

“She came back from Sri Lanka with a terrible gash on her forehead. She told me she fell from a tree. She's lying, Patrick! My granddaughter never falls from a tree.”

“Of course not.” He smiled. “She’s like her mother... like a monkey.”

“I'm so scared for her! Something horrible happened to her in that place... and she doesn’t talk about it! My daughter has not even shown up here...”

"Don’t take offense, Angeline, but Lara’s not avoiding her daughter. She's avoiding you.”

“You think I don’t know? I've already given up on Lara! But Anna...” Her eyes filled with tears. “I'm very worried about her!” The other day something horrible happened, Patrick. That... that man and his mother, the Indian...”

"You’re talking about Mr. Trent and Mrs. Cornel."

“Whatever. They arrived to take the girl to Turkey, without warning!”

“They will be surely taking her to Professor Al-Jazeera. No need to worry, my dear. The girl is really beloved there.”

“Let me finish!” She was getting more nervous. “The girl went down to greet that woman... and she was fine... and suddenly she paled as if she was a corpse. You should have seen her, Patrick! She looked like she’d seen a ghost! And then she screamed... Dear Lord, she screamed as if she had seen the Devil itself. I swear I'll never forget that cry. Not until the trumpets of the Last Judgment Day erase it from my ears...”

“Well, well.” The priest smiled and patted her hand.

“...and then she ran away, running as if escaping hell! Then that woman looked at her son, at _that man_ , and yelled a word.”

“A single word?”

“Yes!”

“Which was…?”

“Farsee.” Lady Angeline took a deep breath. “She said _farsee_ , Patrick. And that man...ran after her.”

Father Dunstan suddenly went mute and paralyzed. At the altered look on his face, Angeline began to tremble. “Oh, merciful God...”

“Angeline...”

“... you know what it is, don’t you?” She gripped her head with her hands. "Of course you do! Everyone knows it here but me!”

“Angeline, please calm down.”

“I don’t want to calm down! Those two people, that woman and that man, know what happened to my granddaughter. They knew it from the first! Everybody here has taken me for a fool. For a useless old woman who doesn’t know anything…”

“Not so, Angeline. It has nothing to do with you.”

But she was not listening. “That woman didn’t want to say a thing... she even made fun of me! With her middle-class arrogance. And when my granddaughter came back... Patrick, she was faking. She pretended not to know what had happened. But there, everyone knew - the three of them. Apparently, you know it too. The only one who doesn’t know is me.” She stopped and took another deep breath.

"I don’t know exactly, Angeline, and of course it was a surprise what you told me. But if that's what I think, then...” He was thoughtful. Then he shook his head and laughed lightly. “So this is where the events are leading us to. Wow, wow... interesting.”

The old lady stared at him in shock. “Interesting?” She shook her head. "Please, Patrick, tell me what on earth is going on. I’m really anguished for my granddaughter. I couldn’t even help her being taken away...”

Father Dunstan smiled fondly. “Darling, no need to worry at all for your granddaughter. Anna will never be safer in this world than with her father.”

Lady Croft snorted. "Why does everyone keep telling me the same? It's been fourteen years, but I still don’t know a thing about that ma...”

“His name is Kurtis Trent.”

“… whatever. _That man_ makes a terrible impression on me. He knows what's going on. He did not even bother pretending! When he stabbed me with those eyes... so cold and blue... a shiver ran down my spine.” She stiffened when hearing the priest laugh softly again. “I'm not joking, Patrick! There's something sinister about that man. Something... dark. He terrifies me.”

"It's not darkness what you see, Angeline.” The priest smiled sweetly. "Just a different kind of light. Believe me, that man is a guardian of the Good, a servant of the Light. If your daughter and granddaughter are alive, it’s thanks to him. If this world is a better place, safer for the right people, it’s thanks to him - and those who came before him.”

Lady Angeline looked at him sideways and shook her head. "What are you talking about, Patrick?"

"The war between Good and Evil." The priest patted her hand again. "Remember what I used to be, Angeline? What did I do?”

The old lady stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “You were an exorcist.”

“Exactly! I purged the world of demons, freed the poor souls from the chains of Evil.” He sighed. “Actually, I was little more than an amateur. I finally met a true warrior of God.”

“Patrick, I think you're delirious.”

"Do you remember all those years I spent in Haiti, Angeline? Learning about witchcraft, voodoo and santería? Struggling against the evil spirits, learning their ways?”

Angeline crossed herself, horrified.

"Everything I learnt in my years of experience, all the souls I fought, my tireless combats against the Devil... are _nothing_ beside what that man has done, Angeline. He’s an extraordinary being. You can’t imagine how much.”

“Are you telling me he's an exorcist too?"

“He calls it differently.” The priest laughed again. “But yes, basically he’s spent his whole life exorcising the Evil of this world.”

The old lady shook her head. “This is delusional, Patrick. Let’s stop this unsavoury stuff. What does this have to do with my granddaughter? Is she possessed?”

“No. But if what you've told me is true, then she... she...could be like him.”

“You're frightening me, Patrick.”

"Well, it's a serious matter, but as long as he’s with her, nothing will happen to her. That man would die for Anna, and for Lara as well.” And he didn’t say that, actually, he’d already done it once.

“It's impossible for me to be so wrong. That man is a dark soul.”

“Only in the densest darkness you can see the most powerful light.”

“Now you come up with poetry. Just what I needed.” Lady Croft got up. “I was hoping to find advice and guidance on you, Patrick, but I only hear ravings.”

“You cannot receive advice and guidance for your inability to listen beyond your hearing boundaries, Angeline.”

"Stop tricking me and tell me the truth, Patrick!”

The priest didn’t even wince. "You're not ready for the truth, my dear. I’m ignorant of whether you’ll ever be. But don’t be afraid: Anna is and will be fine. As long as he stays by her side and, knowing him,” he smiled again, “he will.”

 

* * *

 

Tossing Zip and Anna on the streets of Istanbul had definitely been one of Selma's worst decisions to date - but her concern with the present situation hadn’t allowed her to think wisely.

For starters, it wasn’t Zip who had taken Anna out for a walk, but the other way around. The crowded, bustling city was the perfect place for the girl to get lost while dragging an African-American nerd whose experience in the world was reduced to anything connected through the Internet. Not all the years he'd been in Istanbul with Selma had gotten him used to anything else.

The archaeologist lived buried in her books and as much moved to the university or to her excavations in Cappadocia, and he lived buried in his computers and the activities – half-legal or directly illegal - linked to them.

But Anna was young, vital and above all, she loved large, crowded cities almost as much as the wide, silent ruins of temples. Together with her mother she’d come to visit the major cities of the world and had learned that she should keep her eyes open, her mouth shut and stay by her side. Challenging these orders had brought her rather distress, when in Beijing she’d ended up in an opium den or when in the Marrakesh riad a band of glue-sniffers had turned all her pockets inside out. Lara hadn’t even needed to scold her - she kept stuck to her for the rest of the trip.

Of course, that was just with Lara. Zip was another matter, and in addition, Istanbul, like Cairo, was affectionately familiar to her, despite its immensity. That familiarity led her to unconcern and then to carelessness.

So there she was, sitting at street level in the Beşiktaş district, not too far from Selma's flat, but near the harbour where passengers took the ferry across the Bosphorus. Not far from the hotel where Lara had taken refuge all that time.

Anna enjoyed sitting in a discreet place like a cat to watch the travellers pass through the port area - tourists of all nations, all kinds of people in a _maremagnum_ of noisy crowds who smelled in every way possible and spoke all the thinkable languages. She watched them pass, fast and sure for those who knew the city well or were sure about where they went, and hesitant and suffocated for those who had no idea where they were or were simply stunned by the crowd. She liked to imagine where they came from, where they went, what their lives would be like, what their dreams would be like.

When younger, she’d even dared to ask them personally more than once.

Right then, however, she tried to place well the annoying gadget Zip had put in her ear. He wanted to test the range of the device, for which he’d moved quite a few streets away from her. After a couple of attempts, she finally heard the hacker's voice: “Earth to Little Monster. Earth to Little Monster.”

“Little Monster’s about to throw this in the first sewer she finds.” The girl grunted, and finished putting a lock of brown hair over her ear to camouflage the device.

“Why you always complain about my stuff? Like your momma…”

“It’s annoying.” Anna shook her head uncomfortably. “And y’know that Mom hates to be told what to do. She likes to work alone.”

"Well, Momma Croft wouldn’t have managed to sneak the Iris from old Von Croy without me, so..."

“Booooriiing. You told me that tale a thousand times.”

“Okay, whatcha want me to tell ya?”

“What you gonna be when you grow up? If you ever grow up, that is.”

He heard Zip puff on the other side of the communicator, but, as usual, he followed her game. “I’m gonna be a cyborg.”

“You, a cyborg?”

“Yes. I’m saving to have my brain cryogenized, so, when the cyborg era happens, it can be transplanted to a metal framed hunk.”

Anna burst into laughter. “So many useful brains in the world, and they will take _yours…”_

"Alrighty, little spawn, now you fucked up. When I catch you I’ll...”

Not that she didn’t want to hear what he would surely _not_ do to her – but suddenly, she stopped hearing anything around her.

Anna winced and stared at the crowd. There was only thick silence. She watched people's mouths move, gesture quickly, but she could not hear them. The whole city had fallen silent.

“Zip?” She shrieked in alarm, more than she should -but then she calmed down. _It's okay, you idiot. Nothing happened. It's the Gift. Just the Gift._ She wasn’t sure, though.

Suddenly, a buzzing sound began to ring in her ears. She pulled Zip’s device from her ear, but nothing changed. It was increasing. It increased.

And suddenly, a sound of aspiration, and again, silence.

Then she heard it. A dark voice, adult, cruel. Metallic.

_Well, well. Look at that._

She looked around and stared at the mass of passers-by around her, but none of them seemed to look at her. They were all too absorbed in their affairs.

_The little Croft bitch. What are you doing there alone?_

Someone was watching her - but she couldn’t locate him. She kept on scrutinizing the mass of people around her.

_You lost, little one? Looking for your mommy?_ A dry laugh.

She tried hard to hide the fear she suddenly felt. _Focus. Identify that voice_. But it was impossible. He wasn’t familiar to her. A hard, dry voice. A particular accent... she tried to figure it out...

_How nice if I just crush her now. Who would notice?_

Trembling like a leaf, she adjusted the device again in her ear and mumbled: “Zip? Something’s wrong. I can’t hear you. You gotta come.”

_Whatever._ The voice seemed to speak to himself. _Just a brat. Focus on the target._

And suddenly, the sound of the world returned to her.

The sudden roar of the street and the crowd, once they returned, made her jump. She sprang to her feet and began to rush through the crowd, pushing at each other despite the protesting.

“Anna?” Zip's voice was heard again through the communicator. “What's wrong? Where are you?”

“Gotta get outta here! There's a…!” _A what?_ She asked herself. “Let's go to my mother's hotel!”

“Dunno where it is…”

“But I do! I tell you where I am and you follow me. _Move!”_

Zip snorted and began to retrace his steps. "Fuck," he grunted to himself. "Still a brat, and she's bossy like Momma....”

 

* * *

 

“So you didn’t see anyone suspicious.” Lara said calmly. It was a statement, not a question.

“I didn’t!” Anna twisted the communicator between her hands before Zip’s anguished look. “I studied very well everyone, as you told me...”

“If it’s a pro, you’ll never see him – his life and money depend on it.” The explorer gazed at the hacker and murmured, "What's wrong with you?"

They were sitting at the hotel reception, talking in a discreet and carefree way, camouflaged between the comings and goings of customers. Lara had not wanted them to come into the room, in fact, she had ordered the staff to be have it cleaned. She didn’t want her daughter to see the place in a mess. After that, she would have no authority to quarrel with her every time she left her room like a lion’s lair, as she used to.

“Me... can you give it back, kiddo?” Anna tossed the communicator, which Zip caught in the air with a startle. “Hey watch out, it’s expensive!”

"We must warn Dad about this.”

“Shit, no, please.” Zip buried his face in his hands. “Kurt's gonna kill me.”

“Why?” Lara smiled slightly.

“I was babysitting her when this shit happ…”

_“I'm not a baby!”_ Anna exploded, extremely offended. “You don’t even know how to find yourself in this city!”

“It's huge! Too many streets!”

"Dude, you used to live in New York…"

_“Ha!_ New York was like the backyard of my flat! This is Babel 2.0!”

Lara had stopped listening to them for a while. She was mentally reviewing the few sentences her daughter had heard say to that hired gun - but it could be anyone. The list of her enemies was endless... like Kurtis’ one.

_She's just a brat. Focus on the target._

Well, one thing was true. He was not after Anna. At least, not at the moment.

 

* * *

 

Anna stayed that night with Lara, in the hotel room, now clean and tidy. The girl raised an eyebrow - an expression that fit her own - as soon as she told her. “Really?” Anna looked around. “Isn’t Dad coming?”

“No.” Lara tried to hide her discomfort when finding that, indeed, her daughter assumed they would be together. “Would you mind telling him you're here? I’ll be back.”

She got into the bathroom while Anna was on the phone. Leaning against the wall, she heard her tell him, in her singing, unconcerned voice, what had happened. “Yes, yes, I'm fine... no, it was nothing. It was cool! I'll explain to you later... well, a little scary at first, so weird...! No, I’m telling you I'm fine! Oh, you’re always like that, Dad... yes, I'm with Mom... yes, I've told her too... no, I don’t need my stuff... I said I'm fine! No, my head doesn’t hurt. No, I haven’t had a nosebleed. Dad, you act like you’re with the CIA.”

Lara's gaze dropped to the sink and then she saw it - the flask of sleeping pills, now half full. With a flinch, she pulled away from the wall and grabbed it. How the hell had she left it there? She was about to throw it away when, suddenly, she hesitated. Surely, she would need them again...

Shaking her head vigorously, she turned, emptied the flask into the toilet, and flushed it.

No more pills.

 

* * *

 

Once again, she admired her daughter's surprising ability to overcome whatever strange or stressful things happened to her. While performing the nightly ritual they used to do since she was very young - which consisted of undoing their hair and combing each other before going to sleep while they told each other everything happened that day - at least, what could be said between mother and daughter - Anna went on chatting like a parrot, as if absolutely nothing had happened.

Sitting on the bed, Lara let her slowly undo her braid and brush her long hair. She knew she loved doing it. She’d been doing it since childhood, since her hands had been able to hold a brush, although at first she’d done nothing but torture her by pulling and twisting hair locks.

Over the years, she’d become skilled and careful. Lara almost fell asleep, as usual, as she felt Anna's hands go through her hair, undoing and brushing carefully. The girl was amazed at her mother's hair, which was never cut, and which she almost always wore braided, except for special events, when she combed it in some more artistic way. Otherwise, Lara didn’t care too much about her hair, but that gesture so intimate, so close, did. She’d only allowed two people in all her life to touch her hair in such an intimate way. One was Anna, of course.

The other was Kurtis.

“... and then she told me, I'm afraid to go into the manor. Mom, she's afraid of the manor!” Her daughter was laughing while combing her. “I teased her about the T-Rex head, but no way.”

“You know you can’t enter the trophy room if I'm not at home.”

“But I wouldn’t touch anything. I just wanted to show her the T-Rex.”

“Well, if she’s afraid of the house, she won’t like the T-Rex either.”

“Oh, but she's so cute when she screams in panic...”

“You're so mean.”

Lara could be described as cold by anyone who observed the mother-daughter relationship from the outside. Only those who knew her well knew that she was uncomfortable with outward expressions of affection. Truth be told, she loved Anna, of course, but in her own way, like a lioness cares about her cub. She’d learned to love her. Not like Kurtis, who’d loved her since he had known of her existence, since she was just a possibility.

She could never be like that, but Lara loved her - and the girl knew it.

“Earth to Mom.” Anna's voice echoed in her left ear. “Earth to Mom.”

Lara winced. “What? How?”

“I was wondering why you didn’t tell me.”

“What?”

“That I am a Lux Veritatis, dammit!”

The explorer rubbed her eyes. She was tired again. “It belonged to him to tell you.” She looked around. "We should sleep. Long day ahead of us, tomorrow. We’ll go to Cappadocia, to Tenebra.”

Anna patted excitedly. “Finally!” She threw the brush randomly and curled up in the bed. “Selma says that we can later go to Göreme to see the fairy chimneys. I _love_ fairy chimneys! Though what a cheesy name...”

She was still chattering half an hour later, in the dark, but Lara didn’t mind. In a way, it was like a lullaby that filled the empty silence of the night. A silence that had become unbearable in the last three months.

“Mom…”

“Mmm?”

“Did you know about Grandma Marie?”

“No, I didn’t. You heard of it before I did.”

“Ah.”

Silence. Thirty minutes later…

“Mom.”

“Yes?”

“You and Dad had a fight, didn’t you?”

Lara sighed deeply. “You should sleep, or tomorrow you won’t be able to see your fairy chimneys.”

“Don’t be mean to him. He’s very sad. And scared.”

Silence.

“It's because of me?”

“No.”

“Because I’m fine. I'm not even afraid of that guy...”

“Anna.”

“Okay, okay, I'm asleep.”

 

* * *

 

At midnight, Anna began to spin on the bed and kick, moaning, as if she were fighting an invisible enemy. Lara had not yet managed to sleep.

She reached out and held her, then let out a gasp of surprise. The girl burned like she was on fire - but it was not a worrying heat. Lara knew it. She had felt it when she held her in her arms in that Sri Lankan hospital. She had felt it too in Kurtis's skin, in Kurtis's body, when she had had him over and over again, before he sacrificed the Gift in exchange for their lives.

Anna moaned again, like in a nightmare. Lara wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close, hugging her from behind. She calmed down immediately. What had worked with the father, worked with the daughter.

Lara grew used to that unusual warmth. After a while, she barely noticed. Anna did not move anymore.

_I'm sorry_ , she thought silently. _For being away. For having been so cold_.

She thought about that hired gun again. And what Kurtis had said. _We can’t fight each other while she’s vulnerable._

He was right. He always managed to be right.

Lara thought she wouldn’t fall asleep, but Anna's calm breathing and warm body cooed her. She went into deep rest, without dreams nor nightmares.

 

* * *

 

Not far from there in the Ortaköy neighborhood, in front of the beautiful mosque on the Bosphorus shore, the man whom Anna had detected with her clairvoyance finished a cup of Turkish coffee, left some coins on the restaurant table and got up. Caressing the straps of the huge sports bag, he carried it over his shoulder without further ceremony.

His target was near. This time, once for all, he would terminate that fucking slut. It was the only thing left to do in the world. Then he could be at peace.

The image of the Croft child crossed his mind for an instant. Then he pushed her away. _No_. His goal was quite different. He’d been chasing her for years. It was about time. Such a coincidence it was to end in Istanbul, the same place where everything, one way or another, had begun.

“Game over, bitch.” He muttered under his breath, as he mentally evoked the beautiful face in the file, hidden deep inside the bag. “This time you won’t get away.”


	8. Bones

_He’d been focused on the newspaper for a while, carefully reading the morning news - all plagued by the Monstrum crimes - when he noticed the woman moving around his bike, parked outside the cafe._

_Not that it surprised him. Women loved his bike - it attracted them like flies, at least a considerable number of them. It had always been a great resource for flirting - among other of his personal qualities which, because of who he was and what he’d lived, he’d never had too much time or interest in developing._

_Through the curtains that covered the stained-glass window of the café, he could barely see the woman's face - a tall, slender, and beautifully shaped woman, wrapped in tight jeans and a matching jacket. She had splendid long brown hair, braided in a ponytail that reached almost the end of her back. She moved with grace, like a feline, like a shoal in the sea._

_Well, maybe her face was ugly, though that wouldn’t decrease her merit at all._

_The woman didn’t dwell too much on admiring the vehicle, but instead suddenly pushed open the door and entered the café. At that moment, the phone rang and Pierre, that stupid bartender, approached to answer without paying more attention to the newcomer._

_But the customer did pay attention. In fact, he was stunned._

_He knew her. Who couldn’t possibly know her? She was so famous he couldn’t understand how that idiot at the bar hadn’t realized. Forcing himself to look down, the man sitting at the corner table pretended to read the newspaper with interest, but over his eyelashes he carefully studied the woman._

_She was even more impressive in person, if possible. Tall, slender, graceful as a gazelle, with that adorable body and doll face, so inconsistent with her lifestyle. Of course, that sticky poster circulating for years among the Legion’s comrades did her little justice._

_And then she turned and walked over. She came up to him in a straight line, taking three large but elegant strides to stand beside him, who had completely lowered his eyes to the newspaper again. What the hell…?_

_“Excuse me.” She said. Her voice was clear, sounding, slightly singing, immensely feminine. “And excuse you too. Do you know a Louis Bouchard?” She had asked without hesitation, with a slightly pedantic - well, aristocratic tone in her case. He had no choice but to look up and stare at her._

_And if possible, she was even more impressive up close. God, she was ravishing. And that was while being pale, looking tired and even having dark shadows under her eyes. But even so, her straight and noble nose, her thin eyebrows, one arched in a slight sarcastic expression, her large, deep and expressive eyes of hazelnut colour, and those thick, reddish lips he was already wishing to kiss – rather to bite - without wanting it, or maybe yes, wanting it after all._

_And her womanly scent._

_He realized he’d been staring at her for a while without uttering a word, and then his voice came out hoarse and monotonous, muffled, with the first thing that came to his puzzled head. “I'm a stranger round here.”_

_She, who had leaned slightly toward him, clearly invading his personal space - not that it bothered him at all, he could smell her better, and God, she smelled so good - even resting her hand on the table, next to his, straightened suddenly like an obelisk and looked at him as if he was a curious insect._

_“Don’t let me distract you from your paper.” She said with a certain sneer, and then she turned her back on him, her braid swaying to the rhythm of her graceful twist, and walked away in the direction of the counter._

_Unable to avoid it, his eyes followed her firm buttocks - holstered inside her jeans - after the soft, stirring swaying of her hips, after the incredible elegance with which she moved away from him. The saliva dried in his mouth. Rarely had he enjoyed himself so much at seeing a woman moving away from him._

_He forced himself to set his eyes on the newspaper, which suddenly no longer had any interest to him. Everything seemed futile now. He’d met the most desired woman on the planet, with whom he - and so many others - had often dreamed, and she didn’t even know his name._

_He could have had the woman he wanted - or several of them - if he had wished, if he had chosen to tie himself to one or several, if he had chosen to complicate a life that was already complicated enough, unhappy enough._

_But for a woman like her... no, rather, for her, he would have risked everything._

_While most of his overwhelmed subconscious was spinning, his fine instinct, always activated although the rest of himself was obfuscated, heard clearly that the woman was repeating the question. Louis Bouchard. Who was Louis Bouchard. Where was he._

_Why would a woman like her look for that nasty runt, the head of the Paris Mafia, of that filthy ghetto? There were not many reasons, and he knew them all._

_He forced himself to move a little - the tension was tightening his back - and then he saw her leave the counter and pass again in front of him, without looking at him a second time, and leave the cafe slamming the door._

_Now he could look at her as much as he wanted, but it was only an instant, and she walked away until he lost sight of her._

_He slowly let out the air he had accumulated in his lungs. He licked his dry lips._

_“Lara Croft.” He murmured, savouring those two words._

_Lara Croft. Lara Croft. Lara Croft._

_It seemed impossible, but there she was. Well, there she’d been._

_And suddenly, he rose from the table, dropped some coins on it, and went to the counter. Pierre cringed at having him nearby. He was afraid of him, like so many others. One had to be an idiot not to see the huge gun wrapped under his arm - and that considering he didn’t know, or would ever know, everything he could do with or without that gun._

_Lara Croft was looking for Louis Bouchard, but he was going to find her, and find out what she was doing there, in that filthy place, someone like her._

_He had a plan. Next time they met, everything was going to be different._

_Very different._

* * *

 

Anna woke up soon, as usual. She had the poor sleep of youth, that is, she could easily fall asleep, sleep like a log and wake up too soon and too active. Of course, that had never been a problem for her parents. Neither for Kurtis and his chronic insomnia, nor for Lara, who could go from 0 to 1000 in a second.

Except that day. The girl was surprised to see her mother wasn’t moving, and when she turned, she saw her still sleeping deeply, exhausted. Leaning over her, she pushed a lock of her hair from her forehead and examined her pale face and the dark shadows beneath her eyes.

Wasn’t she thinner than usual? Was she ill?

It seemed that while she was struggling with her problems at school, the adults had messed up on their own as well.

Sighing, Anna jumped out of bed to pack her backpack, when she realized, annoyed, that her father had it. She had no choice but to take a shower and put on the same clothes.

When she stepped out of the shower an hour later - she used to get stunned under the running water, thinking a thousand irrelevant things at once - Lara was still deep asleep. Anna frowned. “Seriously?” She murmured. Lara always got up and was ready quickly, then she waited for her daughter snorting, arms folded and tapping her toes on the floor while Anna ran from side to side picking up her scattered things.

She must not have slept in three months, apparently.

“Mom.” She pushed her gently on the shoulder. Lara didn’t react. Anna pushed her a little harder. “C’mon Mom, we gotta go to Cappadocia.” Nothing. Leaning until her lips brushed Lara's ear, Anna screamed. “MOM!!”

Her mother had her face against the pillow, but Anna saw her eyelid vibrate and opening slowly. She turned her face toward her and peered at her through strands of unruly hair.

"Do that again," Lara whispered, "and I pack you back to England." Then she sat up slowly, her undone hair covering her face.

“Wow.” Anna looked her up and down. “You look like you were crushed by a giant boulder.” She discreetly pulled up the strap on her nightgown to rest back on her shoulder. “What's wrong with you?”

Lara stretched herself out of bed and said nothing. Then she stumbled toward the shower.

Anna straightened on the bed. “It’s because of porn magazines?”

_“What?!?”_ Lara turned to her, puzzled.

“Just that… Kat's parents got into a fight too. Lord Kipling had porn magazines in the liquor store and one day Lady Kipling found them - and then they fought and Lady Kipling sent Kat to her grandmother and casted Lord Kipling out of their home.”

Lara stared at her for a moment, puzzled, and suddenly burst into laughter.

Anna frowned, offended. “Hey, what’s so funny?”

“It's not that.”

“Ah. Ok. Because Zip says that looking at porn magazines is stupid.”

“Really?” That didn’t sound like Zip at all.

“Yes, he says that on the Internet you can already find everything you need and high quality.”

Lara grunted under her breath and slipped into the shower.

 

* * *

 

Zip flung all the USBs like Frisbees onto the table before Kurtis, who sat with his arms crossed. When he was done, there must have been about five on the table.

Kurtis arched an eyebrow. “What about CDs and diskettes?”

Zip snorted. “You kiddin’ me, man? This ain’t the Stone Age. Nobody uses those anymore...”

“Selma is an academic archaeologist.” Kurtis smiled. “Very old school. Surely, she made copies on CDs and floppy disks. Bring them out.”

The hacker held his gaze for a moment. Then he shrugged, opened a drawer to his left and began to stack CDs and floppy disks, all with the name of Selma and her thesis. "I told her a thousand times this is older than a mummy’s fart, but she doesn’t listen.”

Kurtis slowly picked up the diskettes and CDs and placed them in a cloth bag, as if he’d not heard anything. He didn’t even ask where Selma was and why she wasn’t present – he already knew. “Alright.” He said, cinching the drawstring on the bag. “Not bad for starters.”

This time it was Zip who raised an eyebrow. “For starters?”

"You think I was born yesterday, buddy?" Kurtis' eyes pierced him. “How many more copies do you have? How many have you sent to Bucharest? How many digital copies in your cloud? In your old computer? In your laptop? In your new com...?”

Zip was sweating under his T-shirt. “Dude, don’t do this. This is her life. You're tearing her up.”

"You forgot who actually did that? I thought it was you who watched over her when she was in a coma.”

“Fuck, yes, I know. But the bitch who did that to her is dead.”

“There are many more people who might die by the time this is published.” Kurtis got up. “With this first round this is enough, but don’t think you can fool me. You’re the king of geeks. I'll go back for more backups and, if you care about Selma's life, you'll give them to me - or save me the time and destroy them yourself.” For once, Zip was silent. But Kurtis wasn’t done. “I need you to cooperate on this. You more than anyone else.”

The hacker raised his eyebrows. “Geeeeez. What does Super Kurt want my help for?”

The ex-soldier tried to ignore the nickname. “Gotta catch that bastard hanging around. I've been trying for years, but he’s good, very good; and smart, really smart. And now I don’t have half of the resources I used to before.” He made a vague gesture, touching his temple, to refer not just to ordinary means. "I need to catch him soon - and you're good at tracking information on unofficial channels. Even more than a double agent.”

Zip was serious now -  something unusual in him, but Kurtis knew, like anyone who bothered to know and appreciate that geek, that under all that goofiness in him existed a brilliant and competent mind.  “Who?” He asked then.

“Adolf Schäffer.”

The hacker frowned. “That son of a bitch... you sure?”

Kurtis nodded. "Anna described his voice to me, how it sounded, what ring he even had. He’s not managed to get rid of the German accent - a flaw in his impeccable record.”

“Could be anyone.”

“There were only two agents in the Agency at the same level or slightly higher than me.” Zip couldn’t help but wince, though he knew Kurtis was not bragging. “One was Marten Gunderson, that's why he was the boss. Another was me. The third was Adolf Schäffer. Not surprised he became the boss after Gunderson died. It’s him. After all these years, that bastard is haunting us.”

“What could he want? Revenge? We smashed the business, after all.”

Kurtis shook his head. “For a mercenary, all business is temporary. We go from one job to another without problems. We adapt to changes.” Without realizing, he was speaking in first person.  “If the boss is killed, we'll find another. If something goes wrong with one customer, we get out of the way and move on to the next one. If the business sinks, we move on to something else. In all these years, he’s had plenty of time to make a new place for himself.”

"But there he is, prowling around the lil’ monster.”

“He’s not interested in Anna.” Kurtis folded his arms. "If he’d wanted her, he’d already have had her." He tried to contain the bitterness when saying that. “He’s searching for someone else. He called them a _bitch_ , according to Anna. He's after a woman.”

There was a thick silence. Zip had been thinking. “Maybe it’s not related to us.”

"And what is he doing here, just at a time when we’re all reunited?"

“Dunno man. Istanbul is a huge city with plenty of people. Thousands of targets for that cutthroat.”

Kurtis shook his head. “I neglected this for too long. I won’t waste this chance.” He leaned toward Zip. "Have you ever considered he might be after Lara, or even after Selma?”

Zip shuddered. "Probably Croft, more likely..."

“Why?”

"Damn, because she unleashed the British army on his island?"

“When he had her prisoner he never hurt her, never tortured her, nor mistreated her in any way. He even scolded that bastard Italian for trying to abuse her. He wanted me. Then he released her.”

“Big fail on his part.” Zip twisted his mouth.

“I’m telling you, he’s not out for revenge over that. A mercenary moves on very fast. It’s something else. It's another person - and he has other reasons.”

“Okay man, but why Selma?” Zip shrugged impotently. “The princess is harmless. She’s not doing anything wrong…”

“...apart from publishing a thesis not only exposing the results of her archaeological dig, but also describing in detail the history of the Cabal, the Lux Veritatis, and delivering names of all former members... including his own.”

Zip licked his lips, thoughtfully. “But she claims them as mere legends, lacking evidence to refute...”

“You think Schäffer gives a shit about that?”

“Cutthroats use... different aliases.”

Kurtis laughed. “And it pisses us off when someone burns one for us. He may no longer be named Adolf Schäffer and changed his identity - but anyone can trace identities... you, for example. Or me.”

The hacker got up and began to wander around the narrow space full of computers. “Can’t believe someone might kill for something like that.”

“People kill for much less.” Kurtis murmured, more to himself than to the hacker. Then he seemed to focus again. “Which brings us to the starting point. Selma's thesis must be purged of all compromising elements, and for that I need all existing copies. Don’t make this harder for me.”

Suddenly, Zip held up his hand, as if to stop him. “Hey, wait, man.” The hacker turned to him. “Let's do this right.” Kurtis raised an eyebrow, but Zip had begun to spin again, more and more excited. “Dude, we got a chance to do shit right.” Kurtis crossed his arms over his chest. Zip had his attention, which was far more than he’d given in a long time. “Look, man. Selma’s... planning a big event to present her thesis.” He heard the ex-soldier grunt audibly, but didn’t stop. “A really big deal. She's been working hard on it. Could be the golden chance to catch that bastard. If it’s really Selma or her thesis pissing him off, he might show up - and then you’ll fuck him up.”

“You mean to set him up.” Replied Kurtis calmly.

“Yep.”

“So, who’s the bait?” Kurtis couldn’t hide the sarcasm. "Selma? Lara? My daughter? Or all of them at once? Is that what you mean? To use them as bait so that a professional killer has the chance to kill them all in one go?”

Zip ran his hand over his sweating forehead. “Look, man, I know it sounds crazy...”

“Fucking crazy.” Kurtis muttered between his teeth.

“...but maybe it's the only chance to catch him. For years he got away with it. If he escapes now, he will be an unfinished business forever, we’ll never get rid of him. Like a bag of shit floating above our heads, dude! Maybe he's going after Selma or maybe not, he might want one of our girls, or none, but we'll never know and we'll never be done.” Kurtis was silent now. He listened carefully. “But if we take advantage of the event where Selma is gonna present her thesis... and the fucker shows up... we’ll have him, bro. We'll grab him by the balls. You can get him – and then you can do whatever you like with him, boss. But we’ll have got rid of him.” He took another quick turn on himself, and raised his finger. “And that will only be possible, buddy, if you take your big hands off her thesis. We really need to attract him. To piss him off big time. Let her mention his name. May the Cabal, the Lux Veritatis, the whole gang be under the spotlight. Dude, Selma has planned a tribute to the Lux Veritatis and the other dead, all those we lost: Ivanoff... the Bedouin shaman...”

“Putai.” Kurtis murmured. “Her name was Putai.”

“That one. Geeez, she even wants to pay homage to old Von Croy, and that bastard fired me! And I’m cool with it. If that thug ex-mate of yours comes for us, he’ll show up there and then. It’s his best chance too.”

Kurtis was staring at him. Zip didn’t say anything else. He’d played all his cards.

"You're asking me to risk Selma's life," Kurtis murmured slowly, "Lara’s life, my mother's and my daughter's lives, and expose them as bait in an event I don’t even want to happen. Offer them on a silver platter to a guy who we don’t know whether he’ll show up solo or with a commando, whether he will go low-profile or look for a terrorist action, and who could arrive armed to the teeth or with a simple cord to strangle.”

Zip ran his hand down his neck. “Sometimes in this shit life, bro, you gotta take your chances. You want to get that motherfucker? Only one way to find out. Besides,” he exclaimed suddenly, "we got Croft. She ain’t _no_ damsel in distress. Damn, she wiped out the whole gang at the VCI headquarters all by herself! She’s your girl, man, you know her well.  She’s scarier than a monkey with two pistols.”

Kurtis was silent, staring at him.

"Hey, bro." Zip tried again. "Dunno what the flying fuck is going on between you two – not that I blame you. The babe is a hard nut to crack. But you better be quick in fixing that shit coz we gotta be a team, or we're fucked. We're totally fucked, man.”

Suddenly, Kurtis moved. He picked up the cloth bag with the copies and threw it over his shoulder. “Alright.” That was all.

Zip lifted his arms, exultant. “So, deal?”

Kurtis nodded. Zip threw his hands to his head in relief. But before he could say anything, the ex-soldier pointed to him with his finger: "I want you to know this, Zip, before we become friends again. You’re in this, and you’ll take your share of responsibility in it. Y’know what I mean?” Zip wasn’t as stupid as he looked, so he remained silent and didn’t even flinch when Kurtis continued, “It means that if my daughter, or Lara, gets killed because of this plan of yours,” he stared at him with absolute seriousness, “I’ll bury them first, but then I swear I’ll kill you. I don’t care how far you can run, or how good you are at hiding. If you make me bury my own daughter, I swear on the bones of my father that I’ll spend the rest of my life finding you and once I get you, I’ll _fucking_ _kill_ you. Do I make myself clear?”

The hacker stared at him in silence for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

“Fine.” Kurtis said, and walked away. But before he came down the stairs, he still heard Zip's voice again: “If I make you bury your own daughter, I swear I won’t even run away. You have my word.”

 

* * *

 

Selma had organized a small expedition to the archaeological dig in Cappadocia, which, in fact, wasn’t far from Göreme and its fairy chimneys. The only way to get Zip off his keyboard and his screen was to get him behind the wheel of the Department of Archeology's van for fieldwork, and he did, bringing all the computer gear he could carry. Zip was still struggling with the coverage of the area, but this time, he was sure he was going to win.

After loading everything she needed, Selma arranged Marie in the backseat. Then she turned to Anna, who’d arrived on her mother's bike and was spinning around the car, nervous. “You want to come with us?” Selma offered. "You'll be more comfortable in the van."

“Nope.” Replied Anna, jumping from foot to foot. Then she softened. “I mean, no thanks, Aunt Selma. I wanna go on Dad's bike.”

Selma raised her eyebrows and looked at Lara. This one, still mounted on her own Norton, shrugged. “It’s more comfortable and safe for her.”

She was still talking as the deep, dense roar of another bike flooded the alley. The old Brough Superior made its appearance and Kurtis stopped it by the side of the van with a skill he’d never lost in years. He brought a small backpack hanging over his arm.

“Finally!” Anna ran to her father, retrieved her backpack and began digging in. "Hey, did you touch my thingies?"

“Each and every one of your pink panties.”

Anna flushed. “I don’t have pink panties!” She looked worried around her. “Liar!”

Although he joked, Kurtis was staring at Lara, who looked away, upset, and started the bike.

“See you in Cappadocia!” Selma shouted, before pulling back to give way to the rider, who disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

"Huh, pissed Croft.” Zip muttered, pulling his head out the window. Selma glared at him.

“You ready? C’mon.” Kurtis held out his hand to his daughter, who’d just adjusted the backpack, and helped her up.  Anna hugged his back and waved at Marie, Zip and Selma, before Kurtis started the bike and disappeared on a trail of smoke.

“Please.” Selma murmured to heavens, before going up to the truck next to Zip. “Please, make everybody behave.”

“Ha!” Zip snapped.

 

* * *

 

Too many memories. That place brought too many memories back.

She’d always thought that Egypt would be her pain, her condemnation, her perpetual trauma. But it’d been easy to overcome Egypt. It’d been easy to go back there. What had hurt her, what still hurt her and she didn’t know how to expel from her, like a twisted nail stuck in the pit of her stomach, was to have lost Werner and Putai.

They had died unjustly, and she’d not even been able to bid them farewell. Yes, she’d avenged them, but that hadn’t brought her peace. Those who said that revenge wasn’t enough were right. She still had that pain stuck in there.

Lara wondered if she could ever get it expelled.

As for the rest, she’d reconciled with Egypt. But Cappadocia brought more recent memories, more vivid, and now, moreover, more disconcerting and painful.

She’d found Kurtis back in Cappadocia - weak, slightly ill, but ready to fight. In that same place, in that same dig. There, too, she’d made love to him for the first time, not far from there, by the stream in the hollow. There they had conceived Anna.

How painful that was, at that very moment.

Lara ran her fingers through the rusted iron gate that closed the entrance to the underground excavation. Then she turned to the burning desert. Selma had transformed that place into a decent camp with wooden barracks, running water and electric lights, also equipment of all kinds.

Sighing, Lara sat at the foot of the bike and hugged her knees. She had to slowly reconstruct all those memories, put them in order and give them a new meaning.

_We can’t fight each other while she’s vulnerable._

 “I know.” Lara murmured in the hot sun. “I know. Just… give me time.”

In response to her plea, she heard in the distance the roar of the familiar bike.

 

* * *

 

“Here we are.” Kurtis announced, and stood still as Anna jumped to the ground, holding onto his arm. Then he dismounted and began untying the luggage.

Anna scanned the landscape around her, but suddenly she turned toward him. “Dad.”

“Mmh?”

“What the hell’s going on between you and Mom?”

Kurtis sighed and stood up. His face was tired and sad. "You don’t have to worry about that, Anna.”

“Is it because of me?”

“No.”

Anna kicked the ground. “You’re such a bad liar.” Her father just leaned back over the luggage again to untie it skilfully. Upset, Anna gave him a slight kick. “Answer me!”

“Hey.” Kurtis turned to her. "Save that foot for kicking stones, kiddo.”

“No one tells me shit! You treat me like a baby!”

“We adults fight.” Kurtis grunted. "Not the first time, anyway. You should know already.”

“You adults suck.”

“Language, kiddo.”

The girl let out a snort and turned away. “Fine!” She exploded. “I’m done with you!”

 

* * *

 

Indeed, her parents fighting wasn’t new to Anna. They fought, and a lot. They were like two erupting volcanoes, like two walking timed bombs, especially her mother, who, under all that cold British stoicism, was like a boiling lava cauldron. Since being a little child, Anna remembered her parents fighting over anything, almost always related to her mother engaged in something insane or dangerous. But soon she stopped worrying about it.

First, because Winston, who’d looked after her the most while she was in diapers, didn’t even flinch at those fights. Shouts and slamming doors could be heard in the manor without the old man stopping his soft humming as he put the food into her mouth. No one knew Lara as the old, caring butler did, not even her own parents. As long as Winston was calm, everything would be alright.

Secondly, because the fits of anger and fights were always short-lived and followed by passionate reconciliations that, now in her early adolescence, naturally embarrassed her – there was _nothing_ wrong with kissing and making up like a whore and a drunk in a tavern, but your parents doing that felt very different. Anyway, those snippets were the proof, precisely, that they had never really been serious fights. Anna got used to them: it was normal for them.

As true as her parents couldn’t live without each other, they also couldn’t stand each other for too long either. That's why they weren’t always together. Lara hadn’t given up any of her adventures, her long exploratory journeys. Kurtis also spent seasons being absent, though Anna wasn’t sure about what he was up to. She didn’t care much – as long as he came back.

Her parents loved each other, but both in their own way were difficult to handle. Specially Lara, who always had to get away with everything she planned. Anna sensed, in her youthful age, that if her mother had been more tolerant or less stubborn, fights would’ve been reduced by half. It was often her father's patient attitude that avoided a fight.

Only this time it seemed serious. Three months without talking to each other and fighting at every encounter. She’d never seen her mother _that_ broken - not even after that wooden ceiling in a Viking temple in Norway fell over her. May it be that, after all, her father's taciturn and sad attitude wasn’t due solely to Marie's illness.

No, this time was serious. What a moment to fight again, now that she’d inherited the Gift, Grandma Marie was dying and Aunt Selma was about to make the presentation of her life’s work on Cappadocia and the _Nephili_.

Indeed, adults sucked.

 

* * *

 

"Dear friends and colleagues..." Selma began, while looking around at those listening to her, or at least pretending to. She’d summoned them in front of one of the large prefabricated barracks, and after having ventilated and started up some of the supplies and services of the complex, she was ready to begin. Shame that she was the only one interested, for all she could see was Zip, well-intentioned, but rather focused on a pad in his hand and adjusting his headphones; Anna in a corner, crossed arms and sulking attitude; Marie, delicately seated on a stool but looking as if about to fly away if a light breeze blew, and finally, at both ends, well separated... Lara and Kurtis, both with an expression like sour milk. Specially Kurtis.

_Oh, c’mon,_ Selma thought, disheartened. Then she cleared her throat again. “Dear friends and colleagues,” she continued, “I summoned you here after so many years to show you the result of the work of my team in the university, which has consisted basically in the removal of the strata IV and V of...”

Anna yawned loudly, but closed her mouth as Lara glared at her. “While Anna remembers her manners,” the British explorer muttered, “I’d like to ask you, Selma, to move this on a little.”

The Turkish archaeologist sighed. “Alright. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. See it for yourselves.” She turned toward the barracks doors and pulled out the key. “I must warn you it’s not gonna be a pleasant sight.”

Lara chuckled - but her laughter died as soon as Selma began to turn on lights inside the barrack.

“Oh God.” Marie muttered. Kurtis frowned. Anna whistled long. Zip, not looking up from the pad, began to back away. “I’m out, pals. Don’t wish to see that again.”

The barrack was huge and spaced. Along several meters, a series of tables were placed in rows.

One hundred and twenty tables and boards.

One hundred and twenty skeletons on them.

The visitors had muted, except for Anna, who gave a long whistle again and began to move between the tables. Lara followed her, but she stopped at the fifth table as the child slid forward.

“So, you got them out.” Lara told Selma, who, however, had stayed with Marie and Kurtis, both still in their place.

“We’ve recovered, cleaned, reconstructed and identified all of them.” The archaeologist made a vague gesture towards some wooden boards placed next to each skull. "I must admit that the Cabal helped with the task. Each crucified had his _titulus_.”

Kurtis's expression had grown darker as he tried to contain his anger. But Marie seemed suddenly serene. She turned to Selma. “Show me Konstantin. I want to see him.”

Selma nodded respectfully and led her to a separate room. Opening the door, she led her inside.

Kurtis had not moved from his place. He glared at Selma. “What have you done?”

“Honor the dead.” She replied, and stood up with dignity. For a moment Lara admired her. "I know you don’t approve, Kurtis, but it's my job. There was a massacre here, there was genocide. The dead need justic...”

“…justice was served. The price was paid.” Kurtis suddenly looked at Lara. "Did you know anything about this?"

She was slightly irritated by his tone, and opened her mouth to give him a sour retort. But suddenly she noticed Anna, still moving among the tables full of skeletons, and decided to shut her mouth, shrug and shake her head.

“Come, please.” Said Selma, determined not to be intimidated by him. “You have the right to see him first.”

“But not to be asked my fucking opinion before this madness, of course." He mumbled, and passed quickly, like a whirlwind, after his mother.

When Selma entered the room and closed the door, Lara gave a slight sigh and leaned against a table. Anna was still moving between the tables. Lara watched her delicate lips utter the names of the dead.

 

* * *

 

_Konstantin Heissturm._

The _titulus_ lay on the table, and beside it was a large cardboard box, closed with a lid. A tab attached to one of the sides had more information about its content, and even some diagrams. It was clear what it was.

Marie came hesitantly to the table, held by Kurtis, and silently stared at the closed box. Selma commented: “You’ll have noticed, maybe, that the other skeletons are spread on a table and these rests are in a box.” She swallowed hard. “It's because we weren’t able to recover all of them. After the fire, they were detached from the crosses and I’m very afraid that they’ve been dispersed by some kind of rodents or wild animals.”

"It didn’t happen to anyone else?" At Selma's hesitation, Marie smiled bitterly. “Such a coincidence. Must be up to the manticores.” Then she looked at the box again. "Open it."

“Marie, I...”

“Open it, I said.”

Selma exchanged a worried look at Kurtis. He nodded in silence. Selma put her hands gently on the lid and lifted it.

As in the case of the other skeletons, the bones of Konstantin Heissturm, Marie's husband and Kurtis's father, had reddened after she herself had set fire to them years ago in a fit of rage and despair. When Selma and her team of archaeologists and forensics had decided to collect and catalogue them, they were blackened and partially disintegrated, but after cleaning only the slight redness remained due to the heat and the flames. And that was what they saw now, a pile of red bones stacked respectfully and neatly, with the skull, devoid of jaw, at the top.

Marie slipped her hands, deformed and shaken by the disease, by the edge of the box. Then she reached in and stroked the skull's forehead slightly. In other circumstances, Selma would not have allowed anyone outside the excavation crew to touch the remains, much less without gloves. But she was silent this time.

“It's weird.” Marie said. Her voice sounded calm and composed. "Last time I saw him alive was like any other day. A man who talks, who walks, who breathes, who laughs and who smiles. It’s difficult to relate him to this pile of bones...”

For a moment, there was only the distant rumble of the electric generator feeding the barracks. Then Selma murmured. "You want me to leave you alone for a while?"

"Yes," sighed Marie. “Alone with him... a little more...”

Kurtis moved then. He’d not uttered a single word and his face was absolutely expressionless. He looked around and took the chair that Selma offered him, and helped his mother to sit on it, in front of the box of bones.

"No," he said, refusing the chair Selma offered him too. “Gotta talk to you.”

 

* * *

 

Anna reached out and put one finger inside one of the skull sockets.

“Stop it”. Lara grunted. "Show a little respect for these remains.”

"Is that what you do with the dead you plunder daily?"

“I plunder the dead because I need to see if they have anything useful or interesting to me. These have nothing. Stop it.”

Rolling her eyes, Anna withdrew her hand and continued to wander down the hall, looking at the skeletons and reading their names.

Lara lost sight of her then, for another detail caught her attention. Kurtis and Selma had left the adjacent pavilion and he spoke to her in a muffled voice. For a few minutes, the Turkish archaeologist listened carefully to what he was saying. Suddenly her face lit up and, with a shriek of excitement, she put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Whoa, look at that.” She heard her daughter commenting. “Looks like her thesis’ gonna make it. Dad's too nice.”

“Weird.” Lara murmured. Suddenly, she got uptight as Kurtis walked in her direction. In any case, she held his gaze steadily until he stood in front of her.

Anna turned her gaze to Selma and saw her waving her arms in silence, telling her to go with her. “Ehm, well...” She looked at her parents, who only had eyes for each other, “I think I’m gonna go with Aunt Selma. Bye!” And she left on the run.

They waited in silence until the door closed. Then Lara said: “So? What was that? Looks like after all Selma is not gonna waste her years of work.”

“I have to talk to you.” Kurtis said. “But it’s important we do it outside, with Zip.”

“Zip?” Lara raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, Zip.” A slight smirk appeared at the corner of the man's lips. "Why? Did you expect something else?”

Lara held his gaze for a moment. Those eyes. Those eyes drove her crazy. "No, of course not," she said, gritting her teeth. “Let’s go.” And she walked past him toward the door.

Kurtis watched her for a moment. And again, how absurd, that flashback, that memory of the first time he saw her, in flesh and bone, in that Parisian café. She still moved like a queen. She hadn’t lost any bit of her gracefulness.

 

* * *

 

The woman walked slowly back to her room, thinking, wondering, what the hell had _that_ been. The hotel reception had called her down to let her know that she’d an important call, but they could not transfer it to the room at the request of the caller. It was weird for the hotel staff to comply with such demands. But it was even worse when, after picking up the receiver and saying "Yes?", whoever had called had hung up immediately.

She hadn’t even heard him breathe. _Weird_ , she told herself.

She left the elevator and walked down the hall to her room. And then, barely five paces from the door, she stood, nailed to the ground.

The door to the room was ajar.

A wave of terror assaulted her. She tried to move, but her feet were like glued to the carpet in the hallway. What was that? Had the door been left open? Had she forgotten to close it? Maybe someone from the cleaning crew came in? But it wasn’t likely at that time.

“Don’t be afraid.” She murmured, trembling, the mantra with which she’d survived all those years. “Don’t be afraid.”

At last she made her way and finally pushed open the door and entered. The room was in order, quiet. “Anyone there?” She shouted, looking around, making use of her rudimentary Turkish. “Hello?”

Silence.

Sighing, she turned to the door and closed it. Then she walked to the bed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw something reddish through the half-open bathroom door.

The claw of fear was gripping her gut long before she decided to move forward and push the door open. Then reality hit her.

Someone had opened her makeup bag and took the red lipstick. With it he’d written, until he had completely worn the lipstick down, a single word. He’d written it all over the bathroom, covering the mirror, the shower screen, the clean white tiles, even the inside of the tub. It was everywhere.

**WHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHOREWHORE**

Her knees failed and she fell against the door. Then she looked around, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

He had found her. “It’s you, right?” She shrieked, and her voice sounded strident. “Well, here I am! You already have me! Let's end this!”

Silence.

Kneeling on the floor, she crawled on the carpet and, with a flip, lifted the skirt of the large bed.

There was nothing.

There was no one.

The room was empty.

Snuggling into a foetal position, the woman burst into tears.


	9. Let's Play

Lara listened carefully to Zip’s entire speech, not interrupting him once.

The hacker had settled into his own environment, a small prefabricated barrack he’d stuffed, of course, with computers and laptops, antennas and cables, screens and monitors, fans whistling and roaring trying to refresh the suffocating air saturated with machines – and he didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all.

When he finished, Lara glanced sideways at Kurtis, who had leaned against the closed barrack door, his arms folded across his chest, and a harsh, absent mood. He’d not uttered a single word.

“You approve of this?” She asked, surprised. It was easy to address him when the subject to discuss was not about them... about their problem.

"No," Kurtis muttered. "But he's right. It’s our best chance.”

“So that's what it's all about.” She turned to Zip. “Does Selma know?”

“Not yet, but I'll tell her right away.” The geek replied. “We need your approval first, babe. Otherwise we're fucked.”

Lara remained silent, studying him closely.

“What's up?” The Afro-American mumbled.

 _You being that serious creeps me out_ , Lara thought, but she said instead, “If Anna gets hurt...”

“…I know, I know. You'll kill me.” Zip sighed and glanced sideways at Kurtis. "I care for the little monster. This is some serious shit, babe.”

Yes, he definitely gave her the creeps.

Lara shifted and crossed her arms. “Not sure he’s after Selma, or what his motivations are. He could have done this a long time ago. Selma’s vulnerable, she's always been helpless, and all he has to do is sneak into the Archaeology Department and snoop around her papers to see what she’s up to. None of this explains why a professional like Schäffer waited so long to get his hands on it.” Zip opened his mouth, but Lara raised her hand to stop him and continued. "He’s not after me either, for he refused to attack Anna. He could’ve kidnapped her and demanded a ransom for her - but he’s not touched her. Not interested. Zip, that man’s not after us.”

“Whatever.” Kurtis said suddenly. Lara turned to face him. The look on his face was grim. “Schäffer’s a loose end. I hate loose ends.”

“I wasn’t done.” Lara replied. He remained silent. She turned back to Zip. "Of course he's a loose end, and I don’t like having him around. Neither near nor far, really. That man worked for our enemies, served that insane Giselle, put a pistol to Marie’s head, handed Selma over to that butcherer, murdered Ivanoff, and tortured Kurtis for months.” Behind her, Kurtis slightly raised his eyebrows at the mention of himself. "I want him dead. So tell me what to do.”

Zip nodded, and began to expose his plan.

 

* * *

 

Anna loved fairy chimneys.

As magical as their name might seem, they were in fact nothing more than capricious rock formations in Cappadocia, born from a geological process of millions of years, the hardened ash from volcanic eruptions transformed into the basaltic tuft, and then slowly shaped by erosion. During the time of the Roman persecutions, the Christians had fled from Caesarea to the present Göreme, where they built their houses and churches excavating in the easily malleable tuft. An immense network of complex tunnels and galleries swept through them, forming authentic underground cities, such as Derinkuyu, Kaymakli... or Eden, the ancient city of the _Nephili_ , also called Tenebra, which had until then been ignored - but not for long anymore.

The girl enjoyed running around the galleries, followed closely by a troubled Selma who was terrified of losing sight of her, though she knew and not only from Lara, that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. The reason was to prevent her from storming into a private house or hotel, which, despite her care, she did several times.

However, the thing wasn’t that serious and after a long walk, Anna sat outside in front of the rock formations, took out her sketchbook, and began to order her pencils next to her. Selma, relieved, took advantage of her sudden calm mood to go and buy some drinks.

Anna thought drawing rocks would be easy, but nope. The girl nibbled on the pencil, frustrated, as she looked at her sketches. These, instead of the fairy chimneys, looked like... “Turds.” She mumbled. “Or dicks, maybe.”

She felt the urge to tear off the sheet, make a ball of paper and throw it away, as she always did when something didn’t come out as expected – which was 99% of the time - but then she thought that maybe her father would laugh at it - and why not, the poor man needed to laugh a little lately.

She smoothed her fingers over the edge of the sheet she’d already begun to crumple, and suddenly a shadow covered the sun. Anna thought it would be Selma, but when she looked up, she met a middle-aged man, much older than her father, who was staring at her. “How are you, sweetie?” He said in Turkish. As the child stared at him, he repeated, "Don’t you speak my language? Oh, shame. I’d have liked to talk to you - and tell you’ve very beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?”

Anna slammed the sketchbook shut and began to pick up her pencils, but the shadow didn’t move. “Where are you going, sweetheart? Don’t bother. You can go on. What were you drawing?” He leaned toward her, as if to touch her, but then she stood on her feet and the man stepped back, bewildered. “Wow,” he said. "You're brave, aren’t you? Pretty and brave, yes ma'am. As I like.” He reached out to take her arm, but then the girl's voice froze him.

"Touch me," she said in perfect Turkish, "and I'll break your teeth, you filthy pig."

The man stared at her open-mouthed. Anna had her blue eyes fixed on him and an otherwise calm expression on her face. After recovering from the impression, the man laughed. “Well, well! You're a naughty little shit, aren’t you...?”

“You know? My mother taught me how to handle old creepy pedos like you. I usually ignore you - but today I feel like smashing in your mouth.” She took a step towards him. “Come, come, come closer.” She jerked her arm forward. The man winced and stepped back. “C’mon! What are you waiting for? Hold me.” Anna raised her eyebrows. "You wanted to, didn’t you?"

The man hesitated -  he wasn’t used to girls reacting that way. Behind Anna, he caught sight of Selma, who was hurrying toward them, looking worried. He’d missed the chance. And if he was not at all interested in adult women, the girl's attitude had definitely discouraged him. He turned and walked away quickly.

“Hey! Where are you going?” He heard that little bitch scream behind him. “I thought you liked my eyes!”

Selma stopped beside Anna and looked worriedly at the man walking away. Then she looked at the kid, who had sat back quietly and opened her sketchbook again. “Anna!” The Turkish archaeologist exclaimed. "What happened?"

She shrugged, focusing again on her drawing. "Nothing, Aunt Selma.” She said, and nibbled at the pencil absently. “Nothing, really.”

 

* * *

 

Jean Yves was standing before the entrance to Loanna's tomb, sweating like a pig and looking frightened at the LV symbol engraved on the stone arch. He hesitated, his eyes narrowing in the scorching sun. Finally, he sighed and entered - alone - in the dark.

It wasn’t his style, dammit. It was Lara's, and Kurtis's, and even the little child who was totally like them. Not him. He was a scholar, a wise man. Nothing good came from bookworms acting like adventurers. For example, that poor Romanian professor, Ivanoff, who had ended with his brains spilled for getting involved with things too big for him.

And he would end up the same, at that rate.

Sighing again and vaguely controlling the trembling of his legs, Jean stumbled forward as he rummaged in his pocket and took out his flashlight.

He knew they were there, motionless, silent, but even so he flinched when the crown of light illuminated the wardens.

There they stood, immobile, the three skeletons in the Middle-Ages armor of the Order, standing, erect, patiently waiting. It was a frightening sight, the skulls smiling in the gloom, the empty sockets, the slight crack of some bone involuntarily rubbing against their armor.

Dead and alive at the same time. Forever on watch.

Good thing he was an archaeologist and used to skeletons. Well, and at that point, even the walking ones.

Jean stood in front of the Lux Veritatis and cleared his throat.

 _You can not pass._ The voice rang in his head before he’d time to utter a single word. _We will only open the way to..._

“... to Anna Heissturm.” Jean wasn’t very good at pronouncing the girl's real surname. “I know. You said it many times. But as it happens...”

_We will only make way for Anna Heissturm. Bring her here._

“I'm on it.” Jean Yves cleared his throat. “Lara will come soon and take the girl with her, you’ll see. But right now...”

_No one enters the sanctuary of the Amazon without the Daughter of Light allowing it. Give us Anna Heissturm._

“Well, as it happens, Lara’s also the Amazon, so…”

_We honor the new Amazon, her sacrifice and her gift to the world, the Daughter of Light, Anna Heissturm. But only she will open the way. Bring us the Daughter of Light._

“What do you want with the poor kid, she’s just a child…”

_Only to her we will tell. Bring her to us._

“You’re a brainless and stubborn bunch of bones.” The Frenchman grunted, irritated. Turning, he strode away. “I will come back. With the girl. And then we’ll see.”

There was no answer. Immobile, the Lux Veritatis kept jealously guarding their position.

They had all the time in the world. Time meant nothing to them.

 

* * *

 

The plan was clear long before Selma returned from the long excursion with Anna and collapsed, exhausted, into one of the plastic chairs in Zip's barrack as the girl ran to show the drawings to her grandmother. During that interval of time, Lara, Kurtis and the hacker informed her, in low voice, of everything.

She listened to them gaping. Finally, she said: “So, I'm gonna present my thesis in the middle of a trap to hunt that... that killer. Who’s the bait, me?” She turned to Kurtis. “That’s how you get your revenge, huh?”

"We're _all_ bait, Selma.” He answered laconically, ignoring her last statement. “Even Anna, who wasn’t even born when this shit begun.”

The archaeologist blinked for a moment. Then she stared at Zip, who looked away, uncomfortable, and finally at Lara. “You’re silent. This show must suit you fine."

"It's the least you can hope for, Selma”. Lara shrugged. "You should have told us beforehand what you were up to. And yes, it works for me.”

“Of course it works for you, Lara. You’re crazy.” Selma turned to Kurtis again, “But _you_ , risking your child’s life... I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Hey, princess, stop it.” Zip mumbled. “Don’t provoke him. I had a hard time convincing him to let you do it. Now you do your job, and the rest of us pros will take care of shit, okay?”

The Turk nodded slowly, then said, “I want things my way. I want to read and defend the thesis as I wrote it. I want the presentation and the night gala. And I want the act of honor and the memorial to the Lux Veritatis. We’ll expose the remains in an exhibition and then bury them in a monument in their honor, as I have already arranged with Heritage.” Kurtis's jaw tightened. Lara could clearly see he was biting his tongue. "You can only take the remains of Konstantin, if you want."

“No, you can have him.” The former Legionnaire acidly remarked. “Your grotesque circus won't be the same without the main actor.”

“You’re a jerk.” The Turk let go suddenly. Zip winced.

“Enough, Selma.” Lara stared at her. “You're losing your manners.”

“I'm doing this for him and his _fucking_ people!” The archaeologist exploded, pointing to Kurtis. “All this is for him, to give justice to him and his dead!”

“My dead can fuck off.” Kurtis replied. “I care about the living. The last thing I need is people uncovering shit from the past. Do what you want," he said, looking at Selma, "but don’t even dare to mention me, my mother, or Anna. The others can do whatever they want as well.” And separating from the wall, he left the barrack and closed the door with a brutal slam.

Selma winced and closed her eyes tightly. Then she took a deep breath and faced Lara. "What on earth have you done to him? He’s unrecognizable!”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis strode across the dusty courtyard in a wave of fury and punched the barrack door with the human remains, smashing it against the opposite wall.

He regretted almost instantly losing his temper in front of Lara, speaking to Selma in that way, and above all, because a few steps from him was Anna, near the tables with the skeletons, staring at him open-mouthed and her sketchbook pressed against her chest.

His anger melted like ice in the summer. He tried to speak, but the girl let out a long whistle that interrupted him. “Wow, what the hell?” She looked down at the notebook and said, "I was gonna show you some crap I drew, but maybe later." She slipped by his side, to pass by, when she noticed her father's warm hand on her shoulder.

"Anna..." he began, but suddenly the girl frowned and turned abruptly to the tables full of skeletons. “What was that?” She murmured.

“What?” Kurtis said, looking at the bones.

Anna was still, staring at the tables. Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide and paled. “Oh, shit.”

In other circumstances he’d have scolded her for swearing, but Kurtis sensed what was happening. “What's up? Tell me what you see.”

Anna blinked. “I... I don’t see anything. But..." She winced, released the notebook which fell to her feet, and covered her ears with her hands. “Oh!”

Her father's hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around. She found herself face to face with him, the ex-legionnaire leaning over her. “Anna, tell me what’s going on.” She could see his lips moving and feel his deep voice, though she couldn’t hear him - not with that rumble in the head.

“Oh!” Anna shouted again. "Tell them to stop! Tell them to shut up! They’re talking all at once!”

“Who?”

With a trembling finger, Anna turned and pointed to the skeletons. Then, in a vulnerable and childish reaction, she hugged her father's waist and buried her face in his chest.

 

* * *

 

“And what did they say?” Lara asked, crouching in front of her daughter. The girl was sitting on her bed, with a bowl of hot soup in her hands, because she couldn't stop shivering. She'd been clinging to Kurtis's hand for a long time, but at last she had let him go.

Anna studied her mother for a moment, then glanced at her father. He, sitting next to her, nodded. “They said _Go to Egypt_ , Mom.”

For a moment Lara didn’t even pay attention to what Anna had said, upset by that exchange of glances. An absurd, irrational pang of jealousy formed in the pit of her stomach and twisted her guts.

Anna had quietly consulted Kurtis _before_ talking to her. She’d asked permission from her father to speak to her, _her mother!_

Instinctively, Lara bit her lower lip and tried to control her anger. Being jealous at that point was stupid, she knew. Anna had always been attached to Kurtis, in a way she’d never been able to be with her own daughter. There was a special connection between father and daughter long before she manifested the Gift. Perhaps it was precisely the Gift, that latent magic, or genes, or blood, or love. Lara had learned to love the flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood. Kurtis had loved her since she was just a possibility.

She’d naturally accepted it had to be this way, and in fact that special connection between Anna and Kurtis made things easier for her. A part of her would never get used to motherhood. A part of her would never achieve it. She had accepted it.

That was why it was utterly _absurd_ and utterly _foolish_ to feel jealous, at that moment, of that exchange of glances. But she was jealous - and that infuriated her.

“Go to Egypt.” Lara repeated slowly, trying to focus on the message.

"Yes," the kid murmured, and put a spoonful of soup into her mouth. “Yuck! Who made this? Auntie Selma?”

“And what else?” Lara asked.

“They said many things.” Despite complaining, Anna was still taking the soup. “All of them talking at once, voices tucked in my head.” She looked at her father again. "You sure I’m not mental?”

Kurtis nodded slowly. A slight smirk crept into the corner of his mouth - then faded.

“So, they want me to go to Egypt – because the Amazon awaits me. The old one, Lady Loanna, not you, Mom. And they call me Anna _Heissturm_.” She smiled crookedly. "Sounds cool as hell."

Lara sat up slowly. “Jean Yves will be mad with joy. Today he called again asking me to take you there.”

“Uncle Jean wants it; the dead want it... what are we waiting for?” Anna swayed her legs happily. "Those things can’t hurt me, can they? You told me they weren't attacking Dad.”

“They attacked me.” Lara grunted.

“But you went in to raid their tomb, Mom. As always.”

 

* * *

 

That night and without waiting for anyone, Kurtis sat alone by the campfire to do the watch. He was still thinking about everything: the reckless plan to catch Schäffer, the damned dead Selma was trying to dig up and now talking to her daughter, and calling her to Loanna's tomb.

And Lara. Always Lara.

There was nothing he could do about it. But the fate of his daughter made him anxious. What did those damn dead want from her? What horrible truth did they want to reveal to her? Why they were calling for her?

Would they never have peace?

If only Lara cooperated... not having her on his side tore him apart. He needed her. He needed her strength, her conviction. He needed her queenly air and her absolute self-confidence, the certainty that they would handle things, the certainty that they would solve everything. Her unshakeable faith in herself.

And he wanted her again in his arms, goddammit, and to kiss her on the mouth, and make love to her. But she didn’t love him anymore.

She didn’t love him.

He couldn’t bear it.

The flames danced in front of him for hours. Then, exhausted, he fell asleep without realizing.

 

* * *

 

_He thought he had everything under control, that he was prepared. He was wrong._

_After all, he had many years of experience behind him. They called him Demon Hunter, but demons were not the only thing he hunted. Navajo blood and brutal training had made him one of the most dangerous predators on the planet - even though he himself didn’t know it, and if anyone had told him, he would’ve laughed._

_Kurtis knew how to move in the shadows, anonymity was his shield. He was good at erasing his trail and eliminating evidence, or witnesses, for what mattered. Even so, he didn’t trust himself. He was not a fool. This adorable creature, the British explorer, Lara Croft, was also a predator, and though not a discreet one, she was also dangerous - and lethal._

_One wrong step, and he would be dead. And though dying at the hands of such a woman would be an honor - considering all the filthy things that had tried to kill him for years - Kurtis had no intention of dying at her hands. His plans were different._

_Luckily for him, the woman was going through a difficult phase. She must have been tired, or depressed, or both at once, for it was easy to follow her and even anticipate her. Strange. Kurtis even allowed her to see him more than once, to the point she began to suspect._

_Risky, he knew it. But still within his plans. Still under his control._

_He wasn’t even surprised she was able to enter the sanctuary of his Order under the Louvre, and return with the precious Obscura Painting. Kurtis could have intervened, offered his help. After all, to take over the Painting, it was necessary to deal with its author, the deceased, but still furious Brother Obscura. Any initiate in the Order knew that. The guardian's spirit would fight bitterly against anyone trying to touch the Painting – unless it was a fellow brother, of course._

_Kurtis could have helped. Instead, he waited for her at the Louvre._

_He didn’t trust her in the slightest. As it should be._

_For starters, the plan was simple. Wait for her to come out – he’d no doubt she would. He didn’t know her, but he was sure. Lara Croft always came out. Even when a pyramid had fallen upon her in Egypt, she had managed to return. She would come._

_And then, surprise her from behind and, at gun point, steal the Painting. Without hurting her. Nothing. Not a scratch. Not even a blow to make her unconscious and protect himself._

_Only a beast would strike such a creature, and though he was basically such, he still had certain moral standards. At least with her - with a woman who, he knew perfectly well, would have no qualms about breaking all his teeth with a punch._

_Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her._

_His first mistake was to be so self-confident. The second, to underestimate his nature as a man, that primary sexual impulse he knew so well, the pulse of life, of any male belonging to a mammalian species._

_That meant to think with the cock, as they said in the Legion._

_For years, Kurtis had learned to tame his body, not to be carried away by his sexual impulses. Self-control. It had been easy after the Order’s brutal training. And in addition, the image of his mother about to be raped by Cabal’s hitmen had never completely abandoned him. He would kill, he would torture, he would beat and do many other despicable things - he had done them under orders and also for money. But he didn’t sexually abuse anyone._

_He wasn’t a rapist. He’d never been, and he never would be._

_Besides, not that he needed it. He didn’t have to chase women - they came to him. That’s why, although his voluntary self-control had aroused some mockery among his companions in the Legion - always competing for sexual deeds, as usual in men - such mockery ended when discovered that, indeed, women came to him willingly, and more than that._

_Handsome Trent, of course._

_At the Cafe Metro he’d gone mute and dry-mouthed when she was close, which never happened to him with any other woman - but she was not like any other woman._

_There were no women like her. Just her._

_That's why it was a terrible mistake to rely so much on his self-control. Because she wasn’t like anyone he'd ever held in his arms, or under him, or over him._

_She was unique._

_He thought he had everything under control, that he was prepared. He was wrong._

_He’d barely touched her when he got carried away by instinct. The most primal._

 

* * *

 

A hand touched his shoulder. He jumped and sat up, his hand already on the gun and the safety switched off.

Lara was in front of him, frowning at him.

“You were asleep.” A delicate smile appeared one her lips. “Caught you off your guard.”

His eyes reddened, Kurtis looked around. It was still black night. He grunted and ran his hand over his face.

“First time I've seen you sleeping on a watch.” Lara said, amused. “You must be really tired.”

He stretched and shifted, murmuring: “Well, I'm awake now.”

“No, go to sleep. I’ll replace you.”

He stared at her, whereupon Lara raised her eyebrows. “What? We’ve always taken turns for night watch. What’s wrong with you?”

“Thought you didn’t want to be at my side.”

Lara frowned. “What's the point now? You want me to replace you or not?”

Kurtis stared at her in silence for a moment. Then he got up. “Alright.” He murmured. _Thank you_ , he thought - but he didn’t say it out loud.

He walked to his barrack in the darkness, not looking back.

 

* * *

 

_He’d barely touched her when he got carried away by instinct. The most primal._

_It was impossible for that tough woman, her hands harsh and battered by the squeezing of gun triggers, the reloading of firearms, and the climbing of protrusions and rocks, to have such warm, soft, peachy skin - like the skin of a queen._

_But she had it._

_He felt his desire for her increase when he pressed the Boran barrel on the back of her head and noticed how she tensed, how she realized, slowly, horribly, she’d fallen into his trap. He approached her from behind, took her arm, moved the gun’s barrel to her temple. She turned her face, tried to look at him. He forced her again to look forward, pushing her gently with the cold barrel._

_No, sweetie. Not yet._

_Good Lord, such soft skin she had. Before he realized what he was doing, his large, warm, rough hand was sliding down that silky arm in the direction of the pistol she held in her left hand, took it from her and then... caressed her._

_The fuck are you doing, Trent?_

_At least he had the decency to move his hips away from her buttocks. There was no way to control what was burning down there, but at least he’d prevent her from noticing. At least he’d retain that piece of dignity._

_He was no pig. Or at least, he didn’t want to be. But it was very difficult to resist that temptation._

_He felt her skin prickle as his hand slid delicately across her belly to her opposite hip - her skin was even softer there, like the belly of a goddess. He took the other gun out of the holster and dropped it, always pressing the barrel against her head, always on guard. She was tense, throbbing, he could hear her shaky breathing._

_He’d have given anything to know what she thought. But among his many powers, reading the mind wasn’t one - not that he complained. That mystery, after all, was the sweetest torture._

_He was surprised to see the woman's jaw tense with fury as he opened her backpack and pulled out the Painting. Of course, man. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, not even a spoiled child, as some said. She could handle that unwanted touch, that indecent proximity, that erotic contact. But she couldn’t handle being robbed of the fruit of her effort._

_Kurtis reminded himself that he was standing before an expert killer and had just unleashed her anger, if he hadn’t done so before._

_He had to go back now, to leave her, to quit. He already had the Painting. She was unarmed - at least, concerning guns. He must move, walk away, let her be for the moment._

_Instead, he found himself pressing the Boran’s barrel harder against her chin, forcing her to lift her head slightly - so he could observe her better, so he could smell her scent better – sweat and leather and gunpowder, stagnant water and dirt, not a feminine scent at all, but her scent nevertheless – a scent that was driving him nuts._

_The fuck are you doing, Trent?_

_Jesus Christ. What a woman. What an unique creature. The taut skin of the cheekbones, the thin line of the jaw, so feminine, the delicate neck, and above all those lips, though tight in a gesture of fury, that mouth he was dying to kiss, to bite until it bleeds._

_And all the other things he’d like to do to her - going through his mind in an instant._

_Never been a good idea to think with the cock. He knew it._

_In spite of which, she managed to catch him off guard as she spun around like a top, with the elegance of a ballerina, the long braid whipping his face suddenly, and faced him defiantly._

 

* * *

 

He heard the crack of the barrack’s door long before he was wide awake. He didn’t wait for the shadow to hover over him, but jumped immediately from his cot, grabbed the figure by the arms and knocked her down on the bunk, immobilizing her with arms and legs.

“Oh!” Shrieked the figure with a shrill voice. “Geeez!”

Kurtis groaned in frustration and sprang away. Then he groped in the darkness and turned on the light from the lamp.

Blinking sleepily, Anna was sitting on his cot while rubbing her wrists. “Wow!” She said. _“That_ was cool as fuck! You gotta teach me!”

"Anna," interrupted Kurtis angrily, "never do that again. I mistook you for an attacker. I could have seriously hurt you.”

“Yeah, but...”

“You hear me?”

"Yes," she sighed. “But...”

“No questions.”

“Alright.”

Kurtis took the child's arm and looked at her wrist, where he’d grasped her. It was swelling. “You're gonna get a good bruise.” He muttered, furious with himself.

“Won’t show it to Grandma Angeline.” Anna laughed, and winked, amused. Lady Croft hating Kurtis was a sort of private joke between them, but this time the ex-legionnaire wasn’t in the mood. Anna watched him move to a corner of the barrack and open a medipack. “Oh, c’mon Dad, it’s nothing!”

“Why did you come in like that?” He said, ignoring her. He returned with an ointment for the injury and began to spread it around the girl's red wrists.

"Mom's on watch, so I assumed you were asleep. Didn’t want to scare you.”

Kurtis snorted.

“Gotta tell you something, Dad.”

“Tell me.”

“I didn't tell the whole truth.”

Kurtis stopped massaging her wrists and stared at her. “About what?”

“A-about the talking skulls.”

"And why not?"

The girl bit her lower lip. "I-I didn't want to worry you.”

“Anna.”

“Yeah I know.” The girl sighed, lowered her head and swayed her legs uncomfortably. “Gotta be careful. Gotta be smart. But...” She stopped.

“Anna.”

The girl breathed a couple of times. “Don’t tell Grandma Marie.”

“I won’t.” Kurtis moved a strand of hair from her face.

"Grandpa Konstantin told me something.”

The hand that caressed her hair stopped. “How do you know it was him?” He asked, not looking at her.

“His voice was like yours, Dad. Although he sounded older.”

“And what did he say?”

Anna leaned forward, cupped his hands around his ear and whispered a few words to him. Kurtis remained motionless for a few moments. Then he relaxed. “Don’t tell anyone else.”

“Not even Mom?”

“Especially not her.” Anna raised an eyebrow, but Kurtis grabbed her arm. “Promise me.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.” The girl sighed. “You're still mad at her, right?”

Kurtis looked away. “I'm not mad at her. Now go to sleep.”

“Dad…”

"Go to sleep, Anna. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Even she knew how much Kurtis' patience could be abused. She sighed again, got up, and went to the door. But before she left, she turned to him. “I want to go to Egypt, Dad. I want to know what the sentries want.” She raised a finger then. “I'm warning you now so you both don’t fight again because of me.”

"No one had a fight because of you, Anna.”

The girl smiled, revealing her row of white teeth. She was pretty when she smiled. She looked so much like Lara. “Liar.” She said fondly, and got lost in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

_When he had her in front of him, looking directly into his eyes, recognizing him immediately, his saliva dried in his mouth again. But he was quick, and even under those circumstances he didn’t let her win. Quickly he propped the barrel of the pistol on the woman's shoulder, to remind her who was still controlling the situation._

_However, something unexpected happened at that moment. She lost all interest in resisting._

_Neither in his wildest fantasies, nor in his most intimate dreams, could he have imagined such a thing. That this dreamy woman, mastering his thoughts for years, the one who took his breath away, looked at him that way. As if he were the only thing left in the world. As if he were... everything._

_Her eyes had a hazel-brown colour, surprisingly warm and expressive in a woman who had a reputation for being cold and relentless. That glance caressed him like soft fingers, like a gust of fresh breeze, like a fleeting kiss. The coral lips parted, revealing the dampness inside, and he heard her breathing quicken._

_And then she leaned toward him._

_I couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible._

_It was a trap. A trick. Clever girl. Very clever girl._

_He imagined himself giving in. Pulling away the gun. Taking her in his arms. Kissing her, surrendering to her, devouring that mouth whose warm breath he could almost breathe now, biting those lips, sliding his tongue inside her mouth._

_Why not. And if it was a fucking trap, let her kill him. Let her execute him. There was no better way to die in the world. Hell, for years he’d been about to die a thousand slow and horrible ways, at the hands of nauseous beings._

_Kissing her on the mouth and then dying would be a damn privilege._

_Of course, it would be a pity, because he’d not have the chance to make love to her._

_Again, thinking with the cock, Trent._

_Sanity prevailed. He had not survived so long by getting carried away by impulses. He hardened his face and pressed the Boran barrel harder against the woman's shoulder, stopping her when her face was already approaching dangerously close to his. Her eyes, fixed on his mouth, on his lips, rose again, confused, to his eyes. He felt his heart exploding._

_That didn’t look like a fucking trap. That looked real, fucking real. She was genuinely confused._

_Had she been about to kiss him? For real? Willingly?_

_He read the disappointment in her eyes and with that, the truth._

_Jesus fucking Christ._

_Against his will, against his desire, against the ardor of his body and his soul itself, Kurtis slowly drew back, leaving her nailed in place. She looked down, confused, and returned to her position, still not freed from the spell, the disenchantment, the frustrated desire._

_No, not like that, he cried. If that wasn’t an illusion, if he could really have this woman, he would not do it this way. Not a kiss at gunpoint, not between two strangers, not in the middle of a museum full of mercenaries, he suddenly remembered, led by his fucking ex-boss._

_Few things in the world he had wanted as hard as he now wanted that woman. But he would not have her that way, not by force._

_He was not a bungler. He was a seducer. He wanted her, but he would have her willingly, as he had the others. She would come to him on her own, because she wanted him, because she desired him with all her strength._

_He would have her this way, or he would not have her at all._

_I'll be back, he told her mentally. I will return, and we will resume this._

_He summoned his faithful weapon again, already freed from the wave of fire that consumed his body. He smiled confidently, relaxed._

_He even felt like playing._

_Before he turned to flee, he knew she would run after him, trying to reach him._

_Come, beauty._

_Let's play._


	10. Promise

The beautiful woman remained for two hours in the faculty café. Not because she had something to do, or because she was waiting for anyone.

She stayed there because she felt more secure. Not even during lesson hours was the bar totally empty, there were always students who missed lectures, or who were killing time between lectures, or professors with gaps or free hours that went down there to relax a little. In any case, she was never alone.

And being alone, in those circumstances, was what most terrified her. He would _not_ attack her there, he would _not_ try to kill her, not in public, not in front of witnesses. She knew him well. His persecutor was a professional, and the professionals left no trace, nor exposed themselves to be seen or recognized.

Or at least that was what she thought.

Two long hours with the empty coffee cup in front of her, with one hand surrounding it and the other on a huge manual on early Christian archaeology of the Cappadocia region, written by Dr. Selma Al-Jazeera, a graduate of the same university. An area she was familiar with, an archaeologist she knew well. Although at that time the manual was more of a distraction manoeuvre.

If she pretended to read, she would raise less suspicion. If she pretended to read, no one, particularly a man, would come to bother her. She’d already gotten used to the fact that it would always be difficult for her to go unnoticed, even with a scarf and sunglasses - but she could avoid being bothered.

A group of students sat at the table in front of her. The woman discreetly passed a page of the manual and pretended to observe carefully the diagrams of the excavation near Göreme from which Dr. Al-Jazeera had been working for years.

It was very easy to hear what the students were saying, carefree.

“... they say that in a week she's going to present her new thesis and then there will be a kind of reception.”

“A what?”

“Big party, man. A night gala with cocktails and all the university’s big shots...”

“A nice dinner for a thesis? When did you hear that?”

“Al-Jazeera has found something big down there. It's been years since they talk about anything else. I’ve heard...”

The student lowered his voice, but the woman had sharp hearing. “...she found _Nephili!”_

Another student, a girl, snorted. “Bullshit much? There's no way. It's a legend, dude. Those things don’t exist.”

“Well, National Geographic is nuts, girl. They haven’t let her alone for months.”

“As long as the History Channel and their aliens don’t come...”

“What the fuck, guys?” Another one of the youngsters slapped on the table. “Cut the crap. What she found is lots of dead people. That's what I heard. Hundreds of corpses!”

“A special dinner for a handful of dead? What bad taste, man.”

“Well, what else’s left to an archaeologist? Ruins or bones.”

“I've been told that...”

“What? What!”

“That Lara Croft will be there...”

A chorus of exclamations and excited shouts, followed by various considerations about the physical beauty of the British explorer the woman wasn’t interested at all about, so she stopped listening.

Slowly, she slid her finger along the edge of the coffee cup, which still had the marks of her lipstick.

_The Lux Veritatis_ , she thought. The horrendous cemetery of Tenebra. The victims of the massacre were going to come to light. And yes, if those remains were revealed, why not the _Nephili_.

She’d always believed that Selma Al-Jazeera was a stupid naive girl, a dreamer stuck in something that was too big for her. She never bothered to liquidate her - when she had the power to do so - because she considered her insignificant, much less than a fly. An ant, which was not worth the effort to crush.

But maybe _he_ would crush her now.

“You're crazy, doctor.” The woman murmured in a barely audible voice. “Completely crazy.”

 

* * *

 

“You sure that’s what you want?”

Anna frowned at the seemingly stupid question from her mother. “Of course! Besides, Dad already knows and agrees. I told him last night.”

Selma, who was sorting some papers on her desk, glanced at Lara, attentive to her reaction.

The British explorer, with her arms crossed and leaning against the wall of the barrack, raised an eyebrow in a gesture of distrust. Kurtis, agreeing to place his dear child in front of two armed skeletons? Yeah, sure.

Anna blushed slightly. “Well…. huh... I believe he might agree.”

“You _believe_.” Lara sketched a crooked grin. “Now you’re being honest.”

“They're Lux Veritatis like him ... like _me_ , Mom. They won’t hurt me.”

“Why would you want to go?”

Another stupid question. Her mother was acting really weird lately, not like herself at all. Uncomfortable, Anna shifted her weight from one leg to another. “Huh, well... curiosity. I've never seen walking skeletons!” She raised her hands in a frustrated gesture. “Not fair! You’ve seen tons of armed and walking skeletons!”

“Alright.” Lara smiled slightly. “I'll talk to your father.”

“If possible, without fighting, okay?” Anna turned around, shaking the ponytail behind her, and quickly left the barrack, leaving Lara open-mouthed with her impudence. She didn’t have time to scold her, among other things, because Selma's giggle behind her distracted her.

“Well, as it’s said... children never lie.” The archaeologist murmured.

“I don’t think, in any case, it’s time for a trip to Egypt.”

“Right? Everything is already tense enough.” Selma looked at her fingernails absently, and then added suddenly. “When are you going to be honest with me, Lara?”

The British explorer turned to her. For a moment, the Turk thought she was going to raise an eyebrow, give her a dry retort or some other outburst with which she used to shield herself from annoying questions. But Lara just crossed her arms and watched Selma silently.

_Now or never_ , the Turkish thought. “You know what Anna told me last night, when you sent her to sleep with me for your night watch?” Selma clicked her tongue. “She asked me if she was going to lose her father.”

“What?” Lara exclaimed, suddenly perplexed. “Why would she?”

“Because you were going to kick him out.”

It worked. Lara turned around, annoyed, and mumbled: “I'm _not_ going to kick him out.”

“You already did, Lara. You just need to send him away.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” The British turned to the archaeologist. A slow anger was beginning to thicken in her voice. “This is _not_ your business, I already told you.”

And suddenly, Selma got up, took three strides and stood before her, bringing her face close to Lara's. The explorer was still much taller than her and her muscular figure imposed in comparison to the delicate Selma, but the Turkish had stopped fearing her long ago. “No, it’s not.” The Turkish admitted calmly. “But the truth is that I’m done with your crap. I will leave aside my own career, my thesis and the fact that a murderer is around us for no apparent reason. Think of Marie, who’s dying - and, above all, think of your daughter, who, although she didn’t tell you apparently, told me clearly last night that she fears you might separate her from Kurtis.”

Lara held her gaze for a moment, then, to her surprise, gave in and moved away. “I wouldn’t do that.” She mumbled. “She’s very attached to him. She’s always been.” She murmured, more to herself than to Selma. “I gave birth to her, but she grew up close to him. Separating them... would be like killing her.”

“What about Kurtis?” Selma raised an eyebrow.  “Wouldn’t that kill him, too?”

Lara remained silent.

Sighing, Selma insisted: “Anna keeps telling me she’s a Croft, that she has your last name... not her father's. She says that legally she belongs to you, and that in any file it’s reported that she has no known father.”

“Since when do you mess with our lives?” Lara jumped suddenly, now really angry. _And why the hell is Anna talking about that?_ She thought, though she bit her tongue to keep it from escaping. How did Anna even know that? Was it possible that Kurtis ...? She realized, upset, that her daughter was becoming a stranger to her... or maybe was it happening the other way around? “It's an arrangement with which Kurtis agreed to from that day forth. To protect his anonymity, and to bequeath to Anna everything that’s mine. He owns noth... " She bit her tongue. No, it wasn’t right to talk about Kurtis' scarce patrimony.

More considering that he’d never wanted to touch a single penny of hers.

“But, if you wanted, you could separate them, right?” Selma opened her arms. “There’s no legal relationship between them. Legally, Anna has no father. She’s the daughter of an unknown father. That's what the records say, at least the one which she came to sniff at the hospital in Sri Lanka, when they cured her of her head wound.”

“What the…” Lara ran her hand over her face. “What kind of monster do you think I am? And in any case, I don’t have to give you explanations!” She turned her back and went to the door, but again Selma's voice stopped her: “Be careful, Lara. You’ve almost lost Kurtis, and you could lose your daughter too.”

The explorer’s hand froze in the air, inches from touching the doorknob. Then, she turned back to her. The expression on her face was terrible. “You want to know what happened, huh?” Her voice was cold, suddenly calm. She was scary, but Selma didn’t flinch. She saw her lick her lips before continuing. “We had a fight. Since Anna manifested these powers in Sri Lanka, Kurtis has been acting paranoid, seeing ghosts everywhere, treating Anna as if she were a porcelain doll about to break...”

“He suffers for the girl...”

“...spreading those fears to her, after years raising her to be strong, to be independent.”

“... as he suffered throughout his life, because of those powers. You can’t blame him...”

“...so we had a fight. Thing escalated quickly, we lost control and he attacked me.”

Selma looked at her, stunned. “What...?”

“Yes, he attacked me. Him! The father of my daughter!” She raised her hands and clenched her fists, making the leather oh her gloves creak. “He put his hands on me and slammed me against the wall as if I were a garbage bag. He sent me flying to the other side of the room!”

Selma had remained speechless, staring at her in amazement. Suddenly, she murmured: “I don’t believe you.”

Lara snorted. “Believe it or not, I don’t care. So we fought because he’s weak, he’s always been, and now he will finally pass on that weakness to Anna.”

_“Weak?_ What do you mean, weak? Kurtis? The Demon Hunter? The Warrior? Kurtis Trent, weak? All of us here owe him our lives! The whole humanity owes him their lives! You too, Lara! He saved us!”

“His strength is only physical.” Lara touched her temple with the tip of her finger. “Kurtis has always lived in a prison, a prison created by himself! His damned Order no longer exists, the powers afflicting him in the past no longer exist, but he’s never been freed from them. And now…”

“...now his daughter is stuck in the same labyrinth.” Selma shook her head. “Lara, how can you be so ruthless? Don’t you have a heart? How can you talk about him like that? He loved you... he has... protected you...”

“I don’t need his protection, or anyone else's.” But her voice was weak when she said it.

“He’s always been by your side! What horrible things you're saying! I don’t recognize you anymore!” Selma began to spin, hands over her face, and suddenly muttered. “It's worse than I imagined...”

Lara crossed her arms, her face flushed with anger. “Think what you want, but I won’t allow Anna to grow up with fear. I haven’t wasted a single second in lamenting she inherited those powers. It seemed natural... we conceived her when he was still a Lux Veritatis.” She hugged herself, trying to control the tremor that the erotic memory produced in her. “I won’t waste a damn second to think or regret or wonder why she’s inherited the Gift. What has happened has happened. What difference does it make? That thing saved her life! I held her in my arms, Selma!” She extended them towards her in a passionate gesture. “I held her in my arms while she shook like a leaf in that disgusting hospital, surrounded by all those unknown people. She was dying... And suddenly she was fine. I won’t regret anything! Anna’s alive thanks to those powers her father hates so much. The same powers that kept him alive again and again, when he should have died a thousand times! They are so welcome!”

Selma had listened quietly to her speech. Then, when Lara finished, she watched her for a moment and said in a choked voice. “You don’t love him anymore, do you? Anna’s right.”

Lara remained silent.

“Oh my God.” Selma covered her face with her hands. “Poor Kurtis. Poor An...”

“Enough.” Lara muttered. “I'm tired of being the bad guy. Anna’s fine...”

“No, she’s not!” Selma slapped on the table. “How can you be so blind? She acts strong to impress you, so that you’re proud of her, so she doesn’t disappoint you! But you two fighting, her grandmother dying, strange things happening to her and as she told me, things aren't going so well for her in school either...”

“How so?” Lara blinked, surprised.

“How would you know? You've been stuck here for three months, doing nothing! You’ve abandoned her! Such a mother!”

Selma knew she’d gone too far when Lara suddenly paled. “What do you know about that?” The British explorer mumbled. Then she took a deep breath and continued: “Her father also abandoned her. He spent three months in the sun in Utah, getting drunk, or so he told me.” She moved away from Selma again. “I won’t talk about this anymore. It's not your business and you can’t help us. Thanks, anyway, for your concern.” And although she was honest, she couldn’t avoid the sarcastic tone.

Lara winced when she noticed Selma was grabbing her arm. “What really happened?” The archaeologist asked her. “Why did he attack you?”

“I’ve already told you.” Why the hell was she still answering her damn questions? “We argued  about Anna.”

“Kurtis has put up with you for years, even when no one could stand you!” Selma ignored Lara’s murderous glare. “He kisses the ground you step on! He’s always done so! Why would he push you against a wall? He’s not like that, Lara! He...!”

And then, Lara relented. Releasing a gasp, she freed herself from Selma's arm, and, turning to her Turkish friend, grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at her: “You always liked gossip, Selma. Your call is gossip press, not archaeology. Well, here's your exclusive, paparazzi.” She mumbled, teeth clenched, a few inches from her face. “He proposed.”

A thick silence fell between them. Slowly, Lara saw Selma's pupils dilate enormously as her lower jaw dropped off its own volition. The British explorer stared at her friend's wide-open mouth, from which, however, no sound came out.

“So, you see.” Lara let go. “We fight, we yell, and in the middle of that chaos he grabs me and asks if I’d marry him. And I... I didn’t react as I should.” She looked away. “It was hardly the time or the place.”

Selma kept looking at her with wide eyes, her jaw clenched. Suddenly, she closed it and muttered weakly: “He... he... you…” Breathing hard, the Turkish archaeologist took three awkward steps backward and collapsed on a chair.

Lara was watching her relentlessly, her arms akimbo. “What's wrong, paparazzi? Have you run out of questions?”

Selma covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God.” She heard her mumbling under her fingers. “Oh, God, God, God...”

Lara sighed and rolled her eyes.

“You refused.” Selma twisted in the chair, as if a red-hot iron had been stuck in her. “You had the nerve... to... you'd been able to...”

“No.” Lara murmured. Suddenly, she looked immensely sad. “No, I didn’t refuse. I was furious, angry, resentful and... " She shrugged and sighed.  “I laughed.”

Selma covered her mouth with her hands again, as her gaze transformed into sheer horror. “You did what?!?!”

“I found the situation so absurd that I laughed.”

“... he... he asked you to marry him and you, you mocked him!”

“Yes.” Lara sighed. “Exactly.”

Selma leaned back in the chair and slumped her back on the backrest. She had a sad and horrified expression on her face. “Lara... how could you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she shook her head, turned around, and finally left the barrack.

 

* * *

 

She’d believed that if she left in the middle of the crowd, she would be safe. Obviously, she had underestimated her persecutor, but she didn’t find out until it was too late.

Until that moment, moving around in the middle of the crowd had worked for her. Her particular nemesis didn’t like to call attention, as previously said. He was a mercenary, a professional killer, and even the slovenliest of the guild knew that calling attention was the death of the business.

That's why she thought that leaving the university in the middle of the student crowd and mixing with the tourists who, even in Christmas, packed Istanbul, was going to grant her usual protection.

She didn’t count on an essential fact: her persecutor was insane, and after several years after her without achieving his goal, absolutely desperate.

Neither did she count on the fact that it was his last real target and, therefore, he didn’t care to be arrested after murdering her. He no longer had anything to lose.

Of course, she didn’t know this.

For the first time in a long time she allowed herself to be distracted, staring abstractedly at the Christmas decorations and wrapped in her coat, her hat and the scarf that almost completely concealed her perfect face: another added benefit of winter.

For some time, she flowed among tourists, inside and outside markets, alleyways and bazaars. She wondered why she was there. After all, why she cared about Professor Al-Jazeera's thesis? All this was linked to a part of her life, of herself, that no longer existed. Why keep poking around in the past?

_To persevere_ , she told herself. _To survive._

She had nothing to lose, but nothing to gain either - and in that inertia of her poor life, having something to do, or something to be interested in, was to delay a little more the moment in which to live would no longer have any interest.

Did it have it now, anyway?

She didn’t realize the crowd had dragged her into the Grand Bazaar until she was under the roof and seeing the colourful stalls before her. She noticed the smells of the people and the spices and foods that were offered. Years ago, those mundane, mortal scents would have made her gag, as well as the more than inappropriate friction with those pieces of fragile flesh and counted days that were any human being.

But not anymore. Now she was like them. One more among the crowd.

And if she didn’t act with caution, it would be one less. But she was so tired.

_What is here? What do you see? Why do you want so much to live?_

Life itself is an irony. The moment she asked herself that, her life itself almost came to an end.

She might have felt awkward and helpless, but she was still as smart as sharp minded. Her sight didn’t miss the horror painted in the face of a tourist flowing with the mass in the opposite direction to hers, and who fixed his eyes on someone who was behind her.

The woman froze in her place. _He's behind me._ She didn’t want to turn around to look. What for. She already knew.

She had an impulse to duck, to melt into the mass of legs that surrounded her, but it was too late.

A gun shot resounded in the middle of the bazaar. There were cries of panic and the crowd, terrified, started a stampede. The woman collapsed in the middle of that mob and was trampled by many, but _that_ almost didn’t hurt.

She’d barely had a few seconds to notice the right side of her head explode in a wave of pain and fire. Then everything went black.

_It's over_ , she thought.

 

* * *

 

“No.” Marie Cornel said calmly, and then fixed her calm gaze on her son, sitting in front of her on the plastic table. Between them two, the mortal remains of Konstantin Heissturm.

Kurtis let out a sigh and pushed the box of bones aside. “What do you gain by staying here?” He said. “Take Father’s remains and go home. Rest well. You’re very weak...”

“I'm not _very weak_ \- I'm dying.” Marie made a vague gesture. “And I'm not going anywhere. I stay here, with my granddaughter, my family and waiting for Selma’s event. I want to see the homage to the Lux Veritatis, and that published book. Then I can die peacefully.”

“Is it your last request?

“Yes.” The Navajo woman replied. “Regarding your father’s remains, unless you want to do something particular with them...”

“I don’t.”

“...I will give them to Selma to be buried with the others, in the memorial they are going to do for the Lux Veritatis. He belongs to them.”

“I thought you wanted him to be buried...”

“With me? That was before. Now, what's the difference? It really doesn’t matter, for my land is not his land. If we’re to meet again in another life, we’ll do it regardless of where our bones rest.” Kurtis didn’t say anything else. He got up from the table and prepared to leave the barracks, but then Marie added: “You’re right about one thing, my son. The dead don’t matter as much as the living. You must fix things with Lara. Talk to her.”

“Talk to her yourself, if you want to.” Kurtis replied abruptly, turning his back. “I've already told her all I need to.”

Marie opened her mouth to reply, but then the barrack door burst open. Zip stopped in the doorway, panting, the headphones still around his neck and the disconnected cord hanging on his back. “Kurt!” He shouted. “Geez, man, something big happened in Istanbul! Get your ass here!”

 

* * *

 

Images flashed quickly on the monitor screen. Zip raised the volume of the speakers: “...the aggressor, described as a Caucasian man, 1.72 m tall and almost 100 kilos in weight, grey hair and blue eyes, with Nordic features...”

Kurtis released a sudden punch on the table, causing the hacker to startle with shock. “It’s him.” He mumbled, teeth clenched. “It's Schäffer.” But he wasn’t angry, on the contrary, he exulted in satisfaction. The fucker had dug his own grave. “I guess the police didn’t arrested him.”

“Nope.” Zip scratched his head. “Ever been to the Grand Bazaar on a normal day? You can't even see your feet. Now imagine that chaos. He escaped, of course.”

Kurtis smiled. “Gotcha, motherfucker.”

Zip looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Then he clicked on another tag he’d opened in the browser. “There’s… something else. This is gonna blast you away, dude.” He pointed at a text. “The description of the only wounded woman. Apparently, his target.”

Kurtis approached his face to the screen as his eyes read the lines quickly. “Do we have a photo?”

“Nope.” Zip scratched the back of his neck now, nervous. “You think it's...?”

“Barbara Standford.” Kurtis read, and then snorted. “Doesn’t ring a bell to me. She could be anyone.”

“Read the description again, Kurt.”

“I've already done it.” Kurtis straightened up. “What are you thinking?”

“Same as you.” Zip leaned towards him and muttered. “Description matches that fucking bitch...”

“Could be anyone.” Kurtis repeated. “There are thousands of women matching that description.”

“How many of them would that bastard Schäffer want to kill?”

“We haven’t heard from her for years. We... Lara and me, have always left her for dead. For all we know, she never made it out of that hellhole.”

“It's her, man. I swear it's her. Too many coincidences, and you know it.”

Kurtis remained silent. Then he breathed deeply. “Is she alive?”

“Seriously injured. They sent her to one of the hospitals in the area. Intensive care. Oh, and under police protection.”

The former legionnaire nodded: “Nothing I can’t handle.” And said it without arrogance. “Gotta talk to her.”

“We gotta stay in contact.” Zip started rummaging through his messy desk. “I’ve several communicators which...”

“No.” Kurtis interrupted, and raised his hand. “I work alone.”

The hacker rolled his eyes. “Kurt, dude. We agreed we’re a team.”

“This I need to do alone. Discretion.”

“Man, what happens if that wacko finds you? Give me a chance. Croft and I worked together before. I'm more than just a pretty face, y’know?”

“That wacko finding me is all I want.” Kurtis replied. “Only one will walk out. Stay here, Zip. You’re more of a help in this place. And I don’t want any communicator. If he kills me, you gotta get the hell outta here right away.”

“How the fuck will I know you're dead? He can shoot you and throw you down the sewer, for fuck’s sake.”

“You will. I won’t die without a fight. My corpse will attract attention, believe me.”

“You gotta tell Croft...”

“You tell her. But,” and he pointed a finger in Zip’s face, “don’t tell her about that woman, much less her description. Got it?”

Zip frowned. “Nice, hiding shit from Croft. We know what happens when we do that, don't we?”

“Lara’s stubborn and unpredictable.” Kurtis insisted. “I don’t want her in this. I want to talk to that woman and get to Schäffer. The rest is irrelevant. And if you fuck with me and screw up my plan...”

“… yeah yeah yeah. Roger that. Whatever you say, boss.”

 

* * *

 

He waited until the night to leave. During all that time, he stood apart and didn’t talk to anyone.

In silence, he took out his soldier's pack, which he’d kept since his Legion days - an old sentimental stubbornness he couldn’t overcome - and put in some clothes, food he could easily prepare in case of emergency, his faithful gun, a knife and some other weapons. After losing his powers and that, therefore, the Chirugai fell silent forever, he’d come to feel somewhat naked and a little helpless, but he’d never admitted it aloud. Anyway, that feeling had vanished long ago.

After all, he was born a fighter. He’d never been totally unarmed.

He also put in the Kevlar he sometimes wore under his clothes and which, in this case, due to the winter, would be easy to conceal, but he’d no high hopes about it. It wouldn’t do him much good. Schäffer was a professional, like him, and professionals aimed directly at the head.

In fact, it was surprising that woman was still alive.

Although maybe it was just a matter of time.

For the rest of the day he devoted himself to slowly emptying himself of any thought, positive or negative, while he sat on the floor, his legs extended, his arms crossed over his chest and his back against the wall. Inspire, expire. Closed eyes. Slowly, irretrievably, shed all memories, leave the mind blank. It was a relaxation tactic that had always helped him before he went hunting.

Because he was also born a hunter.

He tried not to think about Lara, who didn’t love him anymore; nor about his daughter, who was now at the mercy of the remaining demons; nor about his mother, who was dying.

Nothing, absolutely nothing.

He was a hunter, and now only the prey mattered.

When it was black night, he slipped silently out of his barrack and walked to where his bike was parked. He put the keys in the ignition, but didn’t start the engine yet. He would have to drag it a few meters away to avoid attracting attention.

While securing the pack in the luggage of the motorcycle, he heard a twig breaking behind him. He turned sharply, pulled the pistol from under his arm and pointed in the direction of the sound. Then he circled quickly around the bike and checked the perimeter.

“Lara.” He mumbled.

“No.” A childish voice answered behind his back. He turned, stupefied, and saw his daughter planted on the other side of the vehicle. The girl had her arms behind her back and was staring at him. “You see, Dad.” She said, and she was very serious. “You taught me well.”

Kurtis let out the air he held in his lungs and put his gun away. “Don’t do that again.” He scolded her. “Could have shot you.”

“No.” She corrected. “You thought it was Mom. You wouldn’t have fired.”

“Anna, it's late, what are you doing up...”

“Where are you going?” The girl's voice was accusing.

As he approached her, he realized that her eyes were red. “Have you been crying?”

“Answer me.”

“Anna...”

“Answer me, damnit!” She shrieked, and took a step forward, showing fists clenched.

Kurtis looked over her shoulder, toward the camp. “Lower your voice, I don’t want them to hear me.” And then looked at her. “Anna, I gotta go and you're delaying me. When I come back I'll explain...”

“You're not going anywhere.” The girl said, and opened one of her hands.

Kurtis stared, mouth agape, his bike’s keys on the palm of his daughter's hand. He turned abruptly and looked at the vehicle's ignition. “How did you get them?”

“I told you. You taught me well.”

Kurtis took a step toward her, but then Anna stepped back and hid her fist behind her back. “Don’t!”

“Anna, stop playing around. I'm in a hurry.” He approached her, but his daughter stepped back and started to circle the motorcycle to get away from him.

“If you don’t answer me, I'll scream.” The girl threatened. “I will start screaming with all my might and Mom and Zip and the others will come, and your discreet escape is over.” And then she inhaled deeply.

“Don’t!” Kurtis exploded, and raised his hands. “Okay, you win. But give me the keys.”

“Where are you going?” Anna had placed the vehicle between her father and herself.

“Istanbul.”

“Why?”

“Serious business going on.”

“What business?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Anna stared at him in silence, and then she burst in tears.

The ex-legionnaire stood watching her, astonished, and then went around the bike until reaching her. She didn’t move away this time. “Anna, the hell’s wrong with you...?”

The girl grabbed his waist and buried her face in his stomach while crying inconsolably. “Please don’t go!” She sobbed against him. “Don’t abandon us!”

_How? What…?_

Bending his knee to catch up with her, Kurtis hugged his daughter and held her tight against his chest as he rocked her gently. It had always worked to calm her down. Little by little, she stopped sobbing.

“Anna, I don’t know what you're talking about.” He said, noticing a lump in his throat, because he really knew. “I'm not abandoning you.”

“Don’t bullshit me!” The girl protested, and turning away from him, glared furiously. Her eyes were swollen and reddened. “I'm sick of you all lying to me, treating me like a baby! I know everything! You see? I know absolutely _everything!”_

Kurtis sighed and began to gently wipe tears from her cheeks. “No, you don’t.” He murmured. “I'm not leaving forever, Anna. I will return.” _I hope_ , he told himself mentally.  “As I told you, there’s an urgent matter I must resolve in Istanbul. When I’m done I will return.”

The girl looked at him with a frown. “I don’t believe you.”

“What can I do to make you believe me?

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

“On your dead. On the bones of Grandpa Konstantin.”

“I swear.”

“On your honor as a Lux Veritatis.”

“I swear, too.”

“A Lux Veritatis never lies, Dad.”

“Never.”

For a moment, father and daughter looked at each other in silence. Then, Anna said: “Alright. But what business...?”

“Remember that man who was after you? The one you heard that day that you were with Zip?”

“Yep.”

“I think I already know how to find him, or at least approach him. I gotta grab this chance.”

“What if… he kills you?”

“He won’t. I’m a pro.”

The girl looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Then she nodded slightly, and put the keys in his hand. “Fine.”

But Kurtis wasn’t in such a hurry anymore. Goodbye to the relaxation tactic. “Anna, why did you think I was gonna abandon you?”

“Abandon _us_.” Blue eyes, _his_ eyes, were fixed on him. “Both of us. You don’t love Mom anymore, do you?”

He watched her silently, then shook his head. “You shouldn’t be carrying this burden. I’m sorry.”

“Yes or no?”

“Anna, I'm very tired, and I have a long way to go. I can’t deal with another of your interrogations.” He rose, standing before her, and for a moment, it seemed to Anna that her father was tall and noble like a Greek statue.

“I will _never_ abandon you.” He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “You hear me? Even if you started to hate me, I wouldn’t leave you. I've always loved you, from the first second I knew you existed, since you were only a possibility. I will never leave you.”

“And Mom?” The little voice insisted. As he remained silent, Anna continued. “Y’know she had a fight with Aunt Selma?  Y’know she cried? I'm frightened. I've never seen Mom cry before. But she cried last night, when she thought I was asleep.”

In the gloom, it seemed to her that her father was bowing his head on his chest. “Whatever happens between your mother and me, doesn’t change anything between us, Anna. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The girl said, finally giving up.

For a moment, only a heavy silence weighed between them. Then, her father embraced her again. Very strong. “I will be back.” He promised. “Take care of your mother until then.”

And he left quickly, pulling the motorcycle off, as if fleeing.


	11. Barbara

She should have died that day. Against all odds, she survived.

The bullet grazed the side of her skull and, in its trajectory, tore off her ear. It was impossible to reconstruct the torn cartilage, so the surgeon removed what remained of the auditory pavilion, while cursing in a muffled voice - for it was wrong for a doctor to think so - that it was a disgrace to disfigure such beauty.

He’d never had a patient of such beauty - and he’d never have it again.

She, of course, remained oblivious to all these matters. The pain was too intense to worry about anything else, and in any case, she’d never given any importance to her beauty - not even when it had really been something otherworldly.

After screaming for someone to quench her pain, she remained sedated for days in the intensive care unit. Finally, she could not stay there anymore and was moved to an upper floor. She was then informed that during the time she’d been sedated, her fiancé had been visiting her.

She froze. She didn’t have any fiancé. She had never had anyone before – and she never would.

But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even claim police protection. Why delay the inevitable?

He’d found her once more, and this time, he wouldn’t let her escape.

From that moment on, she simply awaited her killer. After all, what else had she done in all those years?

 

* * *

 

 

“When?” Lara said tersely, arms crossed over her chest.

Zip twisted his headphones’ wires, uncomfortable. “Last night, I guess.”

“And you just let him go?”

The hacker sighed. He’d expected her to burst into a wave of fury, screaming, fists blowing on his stuff or some other outburst when realizing that, once again, Kurtis had acted solo and left everyone else behind. But Lara was dejected, exhausted, almost indifferent... and Zip didn’t know to deal with this new facet. “Look, babe, I don’t mess with Kurt, just like I don’t mess with you. I tried to make him stay, that we were a team. But he said this needed to be done alone, or else it wouldn’t work.”

“Meaning?” Lara said, her sight lost in Zip’s monitors.

“Grand Bazaar’s yesterday shooting... he believes it could be Schäffer. He said he would investigate it.” _Not gonna say any more shit,_ Zip remarked mentally.

But Lara didn’t ask anything else. She nodded slowly and left the barrack.

“You're weird, girl.” The hacker mumbled when she’d left. “I prefer you pissed off, honestly.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was ridiculously easy to get to her - in fact, worrying. The Turkish police didn’t seem much interested in protecting the victim, busy instead in finding the shooter.

_Amateurs_ , Kurtis thought contemptuously.

He could have killed her twenty times during the week he'd been around her, if he'd wanted to. When he meant it, he was even a good actor. He showed up, visibly distressed, the second day after the shooting, asking for Barbara Standford, and claimed to be her fiancé.

Nobody doubted he was so - but Barbara was in serious condition, in intensive care, and could not be seen. He spent the night and all the next day without moving from his place, wandering nervously, until the surgeon and some nurses, compassionate, informed him that his fiancée was still sedated, but recovering - and even allowed him to see her.

Seated next to her in that cold and silent hospital room, surrounded by sedated people or in unfortunate condition, Kurtis could hardly confirm if she was the person he’d believed her to be. A strong bandage wrapped around her head, shaved for surgery, although the hair on her eyebrows could determine it was black, very dark. However, the face, swollen and heavily bandaged on the left side, was still unrecognizable. He examined carefully the straight, delicate nose, the thin, soft, and perfect lips, but as long as she didn’t open her eyes and look directly at him – it just _could_ be her.

By the time Barbara regained consciousness, everyone in that place took for granted he was her fiancé. They had grown used to him.

 

* * *

 

Zip felt he was too old for that shit when he found Selma whimpering, huddled in a corner of the barrack they shared, sitting on the floor, and with a huge tub of ice cream in her hands.

Among hiccups and sobs, broken and disconnected sentences, the distressed Turkish archaeologist ended up telling the hacker about what had happened between Lara and Kurtis.

Zip let out a whistle. “Such drama.” He commented. “But damnit, why are you crying? It's their mess, not yours.”

“B-b-be-because I feel very sorry!” Selma sobbed, sniffing deeply. “Th-they make s-s-s-s-su-such a pr-pretty co-couple! They do-do-don’t deserve this!” Then she opened her mouth and put a huge spoonful of ice cream inside. She chewed slowly while whining loudly.

“What the actual fuck...” Zip mumbled. Then he looked intently at the ice cream jar. “Where the hell did you get that? It’s the middle of winter!”

Selma spun the spoon in her hand. “I-I've found it in the fr-fridge o-of the ma-master barrack...”

“The one whose power we’d cut off last summer? Shit, Selma. Gimme that crap.” And with a swipe he snatched the tub. “Must be spoiled by now.”

“Po-po-poor Anna...” The archaeologist sobbed again.

Sighing, Zip tossed the ice cream into the trash can. “I'm too old for this shit.” He mumbled.

 

* * *

 

 

Feeling her mind blank, Lara began to pick up her things.

She didn’t have an established plan. In fact, she’d always been one for improvising. But suddenly, she was tired of all that. Selma’s thesis, Schäffer, the Lux Veritatis’ remains, Marie... everything didn’t matter anymore.

She was tired, very tired.

She was leaving, and she was taking Anna with her. But where to go? She didn’t want to go back to England yet. A Christmas trapped in Croft manor was the last thing she needed. Even at the risk of revoking her original idea, perhaps Egypt was the most acceptable option.

Egypt, Egypt, always Egypt. No matter the past, she always ended up returning to Egypt. In a way, it was even comforting - nothing could hurt her permanently.

When she lifted a bundle of folded clothes to place them inside her travel bag, she felt something creaking inside it. Surprised, she examined it and found the tip of a sheet protruding from between the clothes. Grabbing it, she pulled it out.

She already knew what it was before she took it out completely. She knew those papers.

The clothes fell to the floor while holding the sheet in her hand, suddenly trembling.

Apparently, he’d drawn it shortly before leaving and had left the drawing there, among her clothes, for her to find it. As if he knew she might be packing soon.

“Bastard.” She mumbled, her entire body trembling.

The drawing was, as always, spectacular. He’d not lost skill in all those years. There she was, standing next to the hotel window, the Bosphorus’ beautiful view behind her – but she wasn’t looking at it. She was turned towards the observer - towards himself, in fact - and looked at him with a mixture of fear and sadness. Still young, still beautiful. Furious.

The Lara in the drawing had her hand outstretched, stopping him from coming any closer.

_Don’t!_

Swallowing saliva, Lara had the impulse to tear down that new plea, that new love tribute, but she only got to crumple it in her fist.

“Bastard.” She repeated - and her eyes filled with tears.

 

* * *

 

 

He entered silently into the room and closed the door behind him. However, he made sure to make enough noise for her to notice - but the woman sitting in the wheelchair by the window didn’t move.

Slowly, with studied caution, the man advanced to the bedside table and left the bouquet of flowers there. A bouquet he’d showed ostentatiously through the corridor and reception of the hospital so that everyone could see how happy the loving fiancé was to finally see his love conscious.

After a few seconds of silence, the woman, still looking through the window, whispered: “Welcome, Kurtis Trent.”

“Hello, Bathsheba.”

When saying that name he saw her shake from head to toe. Then, she turned her face towards him. Kurtis let out the air he’d held in his lungs. It was her.

“Don’t call me that.” She said, nailing into him those impossible eyes, those green eyes he remembered well. “That’s not my name anymore.”

“As you wish, _Barbara_.” He said, and took a step towards her - but suddenly, the woman tensed.

“Please, don’t come any closer.” She spoke with difficulty, with half paralyzed face, and still, she’d kept her beauty - not the supernatural creature she’d once been, but a very beautiful woman yet.

Kurtis raised his hands, showing his palms in peace, and stepped back to sit on the bed in the room. Observing the woman, he realized she was very weak. Pale, thin and sickly, her frail body barely stood out under the wide hospital pyjamas. Now she only wore bandages on the side of her head, where her ear was missing. That side was swollen and paralyzed.

And still, she was the most beautiful woman he would ever see in that world.

“They said it’s not permanent.” Kurtis pointed to her face. “Little by little you’ll regain mobility.”

She smiled with a crooked smile, which made her look oddly ironic. For a moment, she reminded him slightly of her creator and biological mother, Giselle Boaz. “Did you come to chat?”

“What do you think I came for?”

Barbara turned her face to the window. Now that her head was uncovered, Kurtis saw only half of it had been shaved. The rest of the hair, long, soft and silky, of an intense black colour, fell on the opposite shoulder. Kurtis calculated she must have been in her early thirties - if that calculation worked for her.

“Maybe to kill me.”

“Could’ve done that a thousand times by now.” The man shook his head. “And the one who chases you too. You’re an easy target.”

“If you don’t come to kill me, what do you want, Kurtis Trent?”

But he wasn’t in a hurry. Looking at him, Barbara noticed he’d aged a lot. She calculated he might be close to fifty. He was still good looking, of course. He’d always had been. Not that she hadn’t trouble in judging that, though.

“I'm here to make a deal, _Barbara_.” He couldn’t help uttering her new name with some sarcasm.

She watched him for a moment. Then, she nodded slightly. “You want to get to Schäffer.”

“Right now, he’s a bigger problem for you than for me - but when he’s done with you, he’ll come for my family. I can’t let it happen.”

Suddenly, the woman's eyes filled with tears. She blinked fast to control them, but the semi-paralyzed eye couldn’t do so, so a tear rolled down her cheek. “He’s a monster.” She whispered. “He’s been after me, tirelessly, for years. He’ll stop at nothing.”

“You _serious_?” Kurtis twisted his mouth. “Weren’t you the one watching when he tortured me for months?”

“I'm no longer your enemy, Kurtis Trent.”

“Neither am I, but don’t be mistaken, we’re not friends. So, answer me. How did you get here and how did you manage to dodge a professional killer during all these years? Because of your severe injury,” he pointed to her head, “I’d say you’re no longer _Nephili_.”

She shook her head. “No, I'm not anymore. But it's a long story.”

“I’ve time for a long story.” Kurtis fumbled in his pocket, but suddenly remembered he was in a hospital and, grunting, moved his hand away from the pack of cigarettes.

The wounded woman turned her gaze to the cityscape behind the window and, after a moment of silence, began to tell her story.

 

* * *

 

 

Anna wasn’t upset nor surprised about the novelty of going to Egypt, something she’d asked insistently, but had been denied so far. Now, she nodded calmly and began quietly packing her luggage.

Lara, standing in front of her with arms akimbo, raised an eyebrow. The Anna she knew would’ve jumped and screamed out in excitement. “What's wrong?” She asked.

The girl shrugged as she continued to put some clothes and her sketchbook in her backpack. “Nothing. I guess I'm tired.”

“Anna, look at me.”

She put her backpack aside and confronted her mother.

“Do you prefer to return to England?”

She shook her head. “No. We're going to Egypt and we'll come back here.”

“Oh really?” Lara crossed her arms. “Where that came from?”

“We gotta be here by the time Aunt Selma presents her thesis.”

“You suddenly interested in that?”

“Uhm...” The girl blushed. “Well, Dad’s going back here too.”

Lara sighed. “How did you...”

“He promised me.” Anna cut off. “He told me he would be back.”

“You saw him go.”

“He told me he would be back.” Her daughter insisted. “And a Lux Veritatis always keeps his word.”

She held her gaze to her mother for a moment. Finally, Lara nodded slightly and said: “Fine. We’ll be back, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

"At the beginning, all I felt was pain. The _Nephili_ aren’t - _weren’t_ \- immune to pain, but this lasted little. However, the pain I felt didn’t fade.

And something else. Fatigue, the weight of years on me. I had never felt such thing, not in my immortal body. I was tired. Everything hurt.

I suspected almost from the beginning that She’d punished me with the worst punishment imaginable. Death is nothing but rest. I know that my immortal father, Joachim Karel, rested when he died. The visions that your lover had of him weren’t more than that: visions. He’s vanished into nothingness - and I was also meant to disappear.

But She kept me alive, and then I was made mortal. A woman of flesh and bone. A finite, imperfect being. A weak and vulnerable creature.

I had the proof when seeing my blood had turned red and my wounds not healing - but the most painful test was yet to come."

At that moment, her voice faltered. She looked up at the window, rather at the landscape, not sure if going on. But Kurtis was still observing her in silence. He’d always been good at listening.

Hesitating, Barbara went on talking. "I was lost, alone and scared. Didn’t know what to do, didn’t expect to be alive. I wandered for a time through that Syrian desert, until I found Schäffer. He kept waiting, you know. I had promised I would bring Giselle back. I lied - or at least, I lied in part. I always knew Giselle would not return. But I couldn’t be absolutely certain of Lilith's plans. She cheated on me, how could I take for granted even the last aspect of her plans? I returned to him trusting that he would protect me. After all, I had been his Lady, his mistress, the object of his veneration." Barbara swallowed before continuing. “I underestimated him. Although he hid it well, the love he’d felt for Giselle was far greater than the loyalty he owed me as Master of the Cabal. Not even being her daughter and creation made him have compassion for me. He blamed me for Giselle's death... he blamed me for her not returning. And he took revenge on me, taking advantage of the fact that I was now mortal and unable to defend myself.” She made a vague gesture with her fingers. “I won’t dwell into details. You’ve been a soldier. You know what men do to helpless women. Also, apparently to mortal men I look beautiful.” She put her hand to her aching forehead. “It wasn’t me who killed Giselle. It didn’t belong to me, nor did I desire such thing. The Angel must die at the hands of the Innocent, it was predestined. Maddalena, the prostitute, pushed her into the void.”

“Giulia Manfredi.” Kurtis interrupted for the first time. “Her name was Giulia Manfredi.”

Barbara nodded. “Yes. She was born only for that purpose...like each one of us.” She gave a deep sigh. “But I was the one who paid for it. For weeks..." Her voice faltered again, and suddenly she shook her head. “I managed to escape from Schäffer when he let his guard down. He also underestimated me.” She looked up and fixed her eyes on Kurtis. “Since then I've been running away from him.”

The ex-Legionnaire observed her in silence. If he felt any compassion for the fate of the woman, it certainly didn’t show up in his features. “How has such a lost and helpless person survived so many years?” He insisted. “Schäffer’s a pro killer.” He didn’t bother to ask why she’d not sought police or authority protection - obviousness was out of the question.

The woman smiled, and, for a moment, her features lit up through her face wounds. “I’m smart and I learn fast. As I said, he underestimated me too. He’d not managed to hunt me until now...”

“Until now.”

“Exactly.”

“It was just luck he missed the shot in the Grand Bazaar. Won’t happen again.”

“I know. I’ve accepted it.” She sighed again. “I don’t care. I’m aware sooner or later he will hunt me down and then I will die. But that will be much better than this lonely and miserable existence... weak and mortal in a dying world. Any ending is better than this... and of course, better than what he did to me.”

“If your existence is so horrible, why didn’t you end things?”

The soft lips curled into a vague smile. “And do you ask me that, Kurtis Trent? For years you were miserable, I know. Before you found the woman who gave meaning to your life. Why didn’t you end things before? It was impossible for you to see her coming.”

The former Lux Veritatis shrugged and didn’t respond.

“Precisely.” She nodded. “And, besides, I'm not sure if I’ll be put to rest, like Karel.” The woman's eyes darkened. “What if instead of vanishing... when going to the other side... I find Her again?” She paled brutally. “I prefer to exhaust as much as possible this mortal and horrible life rather than facing Lilith again.”

Kurtis got up then. “Nothing to lose, and everything to gain.” He said. “Looks like we have a deal.”

Barbara nodded. “We have it.” She looked back at the cityscape. “I'll be your bait. I'll bring you Adolf Schäffer, and the rest is up to you.” She hesitated before continuing. “I know I’ve no right to ask anything from you...”

“Say it.” He demanded.

Barbara stared at him. “Don’t let him touch me again. Ever.” She shook her head. “I'd rather die before that.”

Kurtis nodded. “That won’t be necessary.”

The woman smiled, closed her eyes and leaned back in her wheelchair. There was no more, although Kurtis could have asked her... a painful question, asked a long time ago, to another woman, the woman who was now his whole life, the woman who no longer loved him.

_You’re trusting me?_

No need to ask. It was the oath of a Lux Veritatis.

 


	12. Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, finally. I’m updating my fanfic! I recently went through a serious writer’s block and besides, the end of the school year is never easy. So in the end I was finally able to end this chapter and give this story a little push forward. I expect to get things going for one more chapter or two, then if everything goes as planned, there will be constant action and rush to the end! 
> 
> Thanks again for your patience, I’m so sorry I took so long to update this time, and of course, thank you so much to @clairesail for her always amazing work as my beta reader.  
> You can also read this chapter in my accounts at Fanfiction Net, DeviantArt, Inkitt and Wattpad.
> 
> As always, reviews are appreciated and encouraged. Enjoy!

The flight to Egypt was sad, despite Jean Yves being excited about their arrival, an enthusiasm born of interest, of course, but honest, after all.

Usually Anna would annoy Lara on flights – which were rarely short-timed, in her case – with lots of mindless chattering, moving around in her seat, strolling along the corridor or bothering the cabin crew with insightful questions. Now, the girl sitting next to her remained silent and motionless, at times looking out the window, at times dozing slightly. She didn’t eat, she didn’t sleep, and she answered everything in monosyllables.

Lara had no intention of pressuring her to speak. Anyway, she already knew everything she needed to know. Anna was angry with her, angry at _him_ and, being in her teens, she didn’t know how to manage that anger. For the first time, none of her requests and protests were answered – neither good nor bad. She just didn’t know how to react.

As for herself, Lara took advantage of that sudden calm to reflect – and by the time the plane landed at the Cairo airport, she had made a decision.

 

* * *

 

 

Anna regained her vitality at Jean Yves’ sight, who, for a change, had gone to pick them up at the airport – something never seen before. _He must be really impatient_ , Lara thought sarcastically as she looked at her daughter, suddenly merry and jumpy again, run to _Uncle Jean_ and jump up to him like a frog, hook to his neck and stick a sloppy kiss on his cheek, which he tolerated without complaining. _Look at her_ , Lara growled inwardly. _The anger has passed._

“Dear Lara, you can’t know how much I appreciate that you changed your mind!” The Egyptologist smiled as he ran to embrace her effusively. Like old times, Lara just tolerated his embrace. “I didn’t know what to do to convince you to come here.” He peered over Lara's shoulder. “Where’s Kurtis?”

Still clutching his huge arm, Anna looked up at Jean. “Dad couldn’t come, he's on _an important mission.”_ She stressed the last words raising her finger. “But he sent me on behalf of the Lux Veritatis’ order.”

Lara discreetly covered her mouth while Jean laughed openly _. “Très bien!_ So, let's not waste time. We must find out what those illustrious knights want from you, _n'est pas?”_

But the British explorer raised a hand, stopping the Frenchman’s bubbling enthusiasm. “Halt. Those knights are dead. They have waited, surely, a long time to deliver such an important message.” She glanced sideways at the girl, who looked at her annoyed. “It won’t matter they wait a little longer. We rest tonight at the hotel, and tomorrow we leave for al-Fayoum, understood?” Resigned, Anna nodded and ran to pick up her luggage a moment later when Lara leaned towards Jean and whispered. “I need to talk to you.”

 

* * *

 

 

She entered the small motel room before Kurtis and didn’t blink when he closed the door behind them. The room was honestly horrendous and filthy, but he didn’t apologize or waste time looking for excuses – not that she was expecting them either.

“You'll stay here until I give you new instructions.” The former Legionnaire said, dropping a bag on the stinking bed. “I will come from time to time to see you, and I will bring you food, but you can’t leave here. Gotcha?”

Barbara nodded. She was standing in front of him, her hands crossed in her lap. She didn’t want to show how uncomfortable she felt alone with him in such a narrow room. His manly scent came in intense waves. Again, her delicate nose played tricks on her.

Of course, it wasn’t about him. Any other _mortal –_ she hadn’t got used to being among them yet – made her feel equally uncomfortable.

“You won’t leave this room, you won’t answer the phone, you won’t open the door if it’s not me.” Kurtis continued, striding across the room, checking every corner, lifting carpets, pulling curtains. Barbara had to dodge him more than once. “You won’t go near the window, you won’t open it, you won’t pull back the curtains, you won’t play music or turn on the TV.”

“Am I allowed to shower?” She couldn’t contain herself, finally. “Or is smelling like this room part of the plan, too?”

The ex-legionary turned to her. He wasn’t smiling. “Was that sarcasm?” He asked. “Okay, disobey me. At your own risk. But when they find you dead I won’t approach to check if it's your body or not – watching it on TV will be enough.”

He rummaged in his jacket and pulled out a key chain, which he threw on the bedspread.

“Lock yourself when you leave. You have enough food for a week. Don’t eat indiscriminately, but don’t starve yourself either. I need you strong for what you gotta do.” He opened the zipper of the bag. “You’ve also stuff to treat your surgery wounds. Oh, and some light reading.” Now a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. He lifted a thick wad of printed sheets. “That way you'll kill time instead of time killing you.”

“What is it?”

“A draft of Selma's thesis. I think it might be interesting.”

“Thanks for caring about my entertainment.” Again, the sarcasm. She was growing bold.

Kurtis cut her short. “I don’t give a damn about your _entertainment_ ”. The jacket was closed with a jerk. “I need you to read it and confirm the names and places of the Cabal fuckers who are still alive, or not, that can still be a problem, or that can move to a secondary place of interest. You have a pencil in the bag. Write down.”

“That's an order? This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Everything I tell you to do is part of the deal. Period.” Turning around, Kurtis strode to the door, but before he opened it, Barbara stopped him. “Wait!”

“What?”

“What happens if you don’t return after a week? Maybe it's you who ends up being a corpse on TV.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled with that crooked smile of his. “Then, do what you've been doing pretty good so far.” He said. _“Run.”_

 

* * *

 

 

That night, under the electric light of the Arabian lanterns Jean had decorating his terrace in Khan-el-Khalili, and after Anna fell exhausted on one of his couches in the warm attic, Lara informed Jean about the current status of Selma's thesis, what happened in Sri Lanka, Marie's illness, and the uncertainties of the future. She only avoided mentioning Kurtis, until, of course, the French Egyptologist ended up reading between the lines, for which he’d always had a talent.

“Not an appropriate time for fights.” He commented discreetly, sinking his nose into his glass of Moorish tea. “And there must have been such, since Kurtis is not here dealing with something that affects him as much as the girl.” Before Lara could protest, he raised his hand to silence her. “Don’t worry, _chérie_. I don’t intend to mess with your private life. You know how to handle this as well as him, I'm certain.”

“Rather, your main concern is to enter Loanna's tomb.” Lara hinted with a poisonous smile. “And finally own the exclusive publication and divulgation of the study.”

_“Mais non!”_ Jean shrugged with pretended innocence. “I care about the kid as much as you. But I doubt we should be worried. Those Lux Veritatis won’t hurt her.”

“No, of course not.” Lara sighed. “Now she’s one of them. The earlier we solve this, the better.”

Jean leaned over the golden tray and picked up his umpteenth baklava.

“You should stop eating those.” The British explorer told him.

“Do I tell you how you should manage your... huh...” He hesitated, looking for the appropriate word. “... _partner?_ Or your daughter? _Non?_ Then let me handle my stomach.”

 

* * *

 

 

When he had something to do, living was much easier. He thought less and acted more.

After leaving Barbara in that smelly motel at Istanbul’s suburbs, secretly praying that Schäffer had decided to take a few days of truce after the Grand Bazaar’s fiasco, Kurtis drove back to Cappadocia. Sounded like no big deal, although it took endless hours of road in which he only stopped to rest an hour.

When finally he found himself again in Selma’s archaeological dig near Göreme, he hurt in everything that could hurt in a human body, or so it seemed. However, again, that pain was manageable and to some extent it tasted like glory.

It helped him stop thinking.

So, when Selma and Zip told him, worried, that Lara had flown to Egypt and she’d taken Anna with her, he didn’t even blink. He just stared at them and then summoned them all – Marie included – in the main barrack, where he cleared a large table and proceeded, without further ado, to update them on the current status of his plan, taking a huge map of the dig, turning it around and beginning to draw sketches and schemes without asking permission.

Not having Lara there, not even his own daughter, had a sad, though obvious perk: nobody interrupted him, nobody questioned him, nobody argued or challenged him. Selma, Zip and Marie just listened to him in silence, with surprised and astonished expressions, looking sideways at each other, but, still silent. Kurtis appreciated it. He hated to repeat himself or even explain himself too much. “Any questions?” He said when done.

The listeners looked at each other for a moment, then Selma timidly raised her hand: “May I ask anything?”

Kurtis raised an eyebrow in a sarcastic gesture. “If it has to do with the plan…”

The Turkish archaeologist took a deep breath. “I still can’t believe that Bathsheba’s alive...”

“... and that you didn’t kill her on the spot.” Marie growled between teeth. Like most of those present, she’d very good reasons to hate the ex-Nephilim.

“Dead, she’s of no use to me. Alive, she’ll be the perfect bait. I already told you she agreed to cooperate.” Kurtis looked around among those present. “I'll use my murderous instincts when I catch that bastard Schäffer. Until then, I'll have a cool head.”

“If you catch him.” Marie said, resentful. “This plan is madness. Terribly risky. Not only you risk our lives, but everyone who attends Selma's presentation. What happens if that psycho fires indiscriminately? How many people will be down?”

“That's not Schäffer’s style. It was not Gunderson's style either, nor any of the Cabal’s agents. You know that too well. Any other question?”

“Yes.” Marie charged again. “Why I haven’t been assigned a role in this plan? You leave me aside like old clothes. I'm sick, but not useless. I want to be there, and I want to help.”

“It's not just that you're sick.” Kurtis replied. “You really can’t do anything, except take care of Anna. If things get ugly... take her away from there – and warn the authorities.”

Zip tensed in the chair. “Holy shit.” He murmured. “Kurt trusting the cops. Well yes, shit must be fucked up to get to that place.”

“If we get to that,” Kurtis sighed, “cops or not won’t make a difference.” And then looked at Selma, who watched him in silence. “You’ll be on stage, in the middle of everything. Can I count on you? This may go very wrong. And you are there, in the centre of the hurricane.”

The Turkish looked at him seriously, and then nodded. “I've waited years for this moment. In one way or another, there are always evil people who stand in the way of destroying my dreams. It will _not_ happen anymore. Count on me.”

“At whatever price?” Marie asked, perplexed. “You could die.”

“At whatever price. I was born for this.” Selma reclined on the chair and relaxed. “I have no further questions.”

“Me neither.” Zip said quickly. “If the princess agrees, I agree. As for the rest I’m your bitch, dude.”

“I’m not.” Marie went again. “Why Anna has to be in the middle? Send her back to England, as far as possible from here.”

Kurtis, still leaning on the table with the palms of his hands, lowered his head. For a moment he remained silent. Then, he muttered with difficulty. “I need her.”

“What?”

“I need Anna. She must be there.”

Again, they looked at each other, stupefied. “I need the Gift.” Kurtis continued, speaking slowly. “Only she has it now. I can’t explain it here, and neither to you. It's something between her and me. It's something she must do for me, now that I no longer have that power.”

“She doesn’t control her Gift.” Marie protested. “She doesn’t even know how to use it, she hasn’t had time to learn yet and you didn’t start to train her. God, she’s just a kid! We still don’t know the extent of her qualities or the price she’ll have to pay for them. And you put her in the middle of this madness...” She stopped abruptly when noticing Kurtis' gaze on her. It was a difficult glance to hold. In her female intuition and old age, Marie understood that it was just as difficult, if not more, for him to make that decision. “I hope you know what you're doing.” She concluded. “If someone touches Anna, I...”

_I…_

Kurtis clenched his teeth. “That's why I need Lara.” He clarified. “It’ll be up to her to escort and protect her.”

Once again, they were looking at each other, hesitantly.

“Lara’s not here.” Marie said, hating to be, again, the discordant voice. “Let’s trust that, when the time comes, she’ll cooperate with us.”

And she had the courtesy to say _us_ , although Kurtis captured the real meaning of her phrase.

“She’ll cooperate.” He closed his eyes, exhausted. “She _has_ to cooperate.”

 

* * *

 

 

The shotgun was laying on the table, cold, motionless and apparently harmless, hiding, for a change, its lethal capacity. The winter sun that filtered through the canvas of the Jeep shone brightly on its metal surface.

Anna reached out and gently stroked the weapon’s butt, clad in beautiful, polished and varnished dark wood.

“Stop it.” Lara growled, without turning around. “I'm watching you.”

The girl wondered if her mother had a bat’s hearing, since she didn’t seem to have grown eyes on the back of her neck. Still showing her back to her, Lara was adjusting the cartridge belts to her thighs - and yet, she’d seen her. She withdrew her hand.

“When will you teach me to shoot?”

“When you are of age.”

“When will I be of age?”

Lara finished adjusting the strap and, sighing, turned around. “We've talked about this before. When you became an adult, period.”

“That's far away!” The girl protested, frustrated.

“As it should be – and now move away. Next time you touch something from my arsenal, I’ll...”

“…you’ll pack me back to England, I know.” Anna jumped off the stool and pulled away, pouting with her lips.

“Be content with being the sudden centre of interest of knights killed centuries ago.” Lara sheathed the pistols in the holsters she’d just adjusted. “Believe me, you don’t need guns. You’ve pretty enough already.”

Anna rolled her eyes and pushed the canvas out of the entrance with a swipe to get out. While she finished adjusting her backpack, she thought about how technically useless all those preparatory were. The Lux Veritatis wouldn’t attack Anna, and in case the episode of Sri Lanka was repeated, there was little to nothing she could do to help her. Except hold her in her arms, as she’d already done.

The belt was adjusted with energy. In short, it was a habit. In the open field, without her equipment, she felt naked, whether she really needed it or not. Besides, it wasn’t that she relied exclusively on it. She knew how to improvise. She knew how to get out of trouble. She knew how to quickly recompose this equipment if she lost it. She hadn’t missed chances to put herself to the test.

But after Sri Lanka, she was overcome by uncertainty. Sri Lanka... she’d been about to die. And unlike Egypt itself, many years ago, this time not only her would have been affected.

She didn’t know what to expect from that bizarre meeting, nor how to be useful to Anna in such a situation.

She missed Kurtis – and she despised herself for that.

 

* * *

 

 

Sixteen years, and hardly a thing had changed in the oasis of Al-Fayoum. True, Jean had cleaned the area: now it wasn’t all just sand, palm trees and a few scattered shops. There were prefabricated concrete caissons, a parking area – which often ended up also buried by sand – and a fence around the entrance to the sanctuary that was Loanna von Skopf’s last resting place.

A part of Lara felt sorry for the Egyptologist, who had long wanted to enter that place and open their secrets to the world. In a way, it was like cutting off his wings.

Anna stood obediently waiting at the entrance to the tunnel, her eyes fixed on the Lux Veritatis symbol engraved on the arch's lintel. Suddenly she looked serious and thoughtful.

“Are you scared?” Lara said, finishing adjusting the gloves.

The girl snorted. “Meeeeee? Of course _not!”_ She put her arms akimbo. “Are we going or not?”

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

She was tenacious, sensible, obedient, and cooperative. Kurtis had to give her that.

After a week, he found her as he’d left her, only that the room was cleaner, tidier, smelled better – was the aroma that wafted in the air lavender? The food had been consumed for the most part, but not in its entirety, and she was almost done reading Selma's thesis.

He found Barbara away from the door and the window, which hadn’t been touched, not on the stained desk and the threadbare chair, but on the floor, behind the bed, her back against the wall, the folios arranged around her – and focused on writing something on the margins of what seemed to be the last sheets.

When he entered, the woman jumped and hurried to cover her shoulders with a shawl, since she was only wearing a nightgown. _He could have knocked_ , she thought angrily. But then she dismissed the idea as stupid. By now, she should already know better.

Without further delay, Kurtis slammed the door, threw the bag aside and went to her in two strides. Barbara pressed her back against the wall, but he barely looked at her. He grabbed a bunch of pages and looked at her notes on the side-lines.

“Good girl.” He commented. She wasn’t sure if that was sarcasm. “Be a dear and gimme the short version.”

“It's an excellent work, but...”

“Don’t care about the thesis. I'm talking about Cabal members she mentions. If any of them, apart from Schäffer, can suppose a problem to us after this is published.”

Barbara sighed. “None. They are all dead.” She shrugged. “Good work, by the way.”

Kurtis looked at her out of the corner of his eye for a moment.

“Stop it.” She sighed again, tired. “We both have been doing our own research all these years, right? I used to look for the few Cabal members who escaped from the police, and you, to kill them.”

She saw the man standing up, walking to the crumpled desk chair, collapsing on top of it and continuing to leaf through the papers. “And despite that,” he murmured, “we never crossed paths.”

“I already told you, I learn fast.” Barbara shook her hair. The scent of lavender intensified. “I get why you’d take care of Hugh. After all, he was a spy. But what was Karl's fault? He was just a guard. Or the nurses...”

“Murderers.” Kurtis mumbled. “Torturers. Sadists. Disgusting assholes without morals or values.”

“They carried out orders.”

“And I protect my family.” The man smiled with that feral grimace. “Have we finished with this constructive speech?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” He got up and began to stretch his muscles. “Tonight, I sleep here,” he ignored the woman's displeased face, “and you can take the bed, I don’t want it. But I'm busted off the road and I need to rest. Now you pack your things and be ready to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Where are we going?”

“Cappadocia. Göreme, to be more precise.”

Barbara paled abruptly, and a nervous twitch appeared on the semi-paralyzed side of her face.

“No.”

“Excuse me, I'm not asking for your opinion.” Kurtis laughed lightly.

“I don’t want…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bad conscience? Too late for that.” He dropped the papers on the worn desk. “As you will understand, I can’t insert you in the plan without introducing you. Now they know you’re alive. They will cooperate.”

“Even Lara Croft?”

For a moment, he watched her silently, as he doubted. “No. She doesn’t know yet. She’s in Egypt, with my daughter.”

They measured themselves in silence for a moment. In the end, she confessed: “I don’t want to meet her.”

“Wise of you. Lara’s much less reasonable and compassionate than me. And her resentment can last a long time, I know well.” He let out a bitter laugh. “But you have no choice. You’ll have to cooperate. I hope she does too.”

“And if not? I just get a bullet in the head?”

“Probably.” He smiled again with that crooked grimace. “I forgave, and I’ve been trying to forget, what you did to her. But she never signed on for that. Anyway, you won’t meet until I’m sure she’s gonna cooperate. Until then you will stay in a hotel in Göreme, better than this one, likely,” he looked around, “so try to rest. What happens from now ain’t gonna be easy.”

Barbara rose heavily from the floor. Her movements, Kurtis noticed, were still clumsy and cautious. She’d gained some weight, but she was still weak. Maybe too much.

But he couldn’t afford to be concerned. In silence, he apologized – for he couldn’t afford to even apologize out loud either.

“One last detail.” He said behind her back, interrupting her when she was already in the bathroom. “The latter doesn’t apply to my daughter. I don’t want you near her.”

“We’ll necessarily have to coincide. She’s a child. Children are curious about...”

“You won’t approach her, you won’t talk to her, you won’t touch her. If she approaches you, you turn around and go away. Understood?”

Barbara sighed. “Yes. But I’m no longer a threat, as I told you. I’d never hurt a child...”

“Of course not. But it's her I'm protecting you from.”

The woman raised her eyebrows again. Kurtis laughed. “I can tell you don’t know shit about my daughter. Better that way.”

* * *

 

 

There they were, firm in the darkness. Still vigilant, still faithful. In their pathetic endurance and loyalty there was something sad, something infinitely bleak, but at the same time, dignified and majestic.

“Oh, whoa.” Anna gasped, with wide eyes. “Amazeballs.”

The two skeletons remained on either side of the gate giving access to the large circular chamber that was Loanna's tomb. Nothing had changed. No trap had been activated. Lara hadn’t need to fear for Anna's safety. Years ago, she’d entered with a Lux Veritatis who blocked them with his aura – and now she’d another at her side who, passively, unknowingly, was doing the same as her father years ago.

_Fascinating_ , she thought. And frustrating at the same time. There was no challenge. No excitement. She sighed.

She noticed Anna grabbing her hand and twisting it, still gawking at the immobile skeletons. “Can we get closer now?”

Lara took a step forward, with the girl clutching her arm. “You’re scared.”

“I’m _not!”_

“You're tearing my arm.”

“’Coz you’re very slow!”

_Slow, me?_ Lara was about to outburst when, suddenly, the skeletons moved.

In unison, gracefully, as shoal at sea, they stepped forward and unsheathed their swords. The screech of rusty metal ripped through the thick, silent air.

Anna screamed, more of excitement than of fear, but Lara had already pushed her back and placed herself in front of her, covering her, one hand on the gun, already with the safety catch removed – but her caution was unnecessary. Again, gracefully, with a solemn and majestic movement, the two skeletons made an arc in the air with their blades, knelt before them and plunged their swords into the ground, in front of them, taking the hilt with their skeletal hands and bowing their heads in respect, and rested their foreheads on the pommel of the sword.

“Holy shit!” Anna released. “This is fucking cool!”

And then they spoke. Lara already knew that multiple voice – so confusing, upsetting, that seemed to speak through a dream, a nebula, a curtain of water. Human voices, male voices, but distant, ethereal. Ancient.

_Welcome, Anna Croft, daughter of Lara Croft, the Amazon, to whom the angels came; daughter of Kurtis Heissturm, the Warrior, the Son of Light, the one who returned from the Vortex, the chosen by the mother of all Nephili._

The girl's jaw dropped in a stunned expression. Then she tugged at her mother's sleeve. “That's me! You hear them? You hear them? They are talking _to me!_ ” She jumped nervously on her feet. “What a fucking blast!”

“Anna Croft,” Lara mumbled between teeth, “daughter of the Amazon and the Warrior, if you swear again like a bloody cutthroat I’m slapping you in a way you’ll fly before these piles of bones. Got it?”

_Fear not, Amazon, chosen by the angels, whom we honour for your sacrifice. We shall not harm the Daughter of Light, the fruit of your womb, your gift to mankind, the one we were waiting for, the one that will close the cycle._

“What do you mean...?” Anna asked, but Lara interrupted her by raising her hand, and then she took a step forward. “What are you talking about?”

_We will only deliver our message to the chosen..._

“No.” Lara shook her head, gracefully swinging the braid at her back. “Since you honour my sacrifice and she’s my gift to mankind, or whatever, you will talk to me _now,_ and answer my questions. Or else I'll take her from here and you can keep waiting for a few more years. What difference will it make to you, anyway?” The smiling skulls watched her in silence for a moment. Lara didn’t wait for an answer. “What does it mean _to close the cycle?_ The cycle was closed. The Vortex’s gates closed behind Kurtis...” She glanced sideways at Anna, who was looking at her silently. “They closed behind us. What does this mean now?”

_The cycle never closed. Had it been so, the chosen one wouldn’t have manifested the Gift. But she absolutely needs it. Although the Vortex’s gates were blocked, there are still demons loose in the world._

“Kurtis takes care of them. He’s always done it.” Lara took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “And he always will.”

_He no longer has the Gift. He can fight with his human strength, but it’s limited now. Impotent against the great demons. If he continues to face them, they will kill him. But that’s no longer relevant. He already played his part and fulfilled his mission._

Anna blinked suddenly and turned to them. “Hey!” She protested, frowning. “Bitch say _what?_ That my father is not relevant?”

_He was the protector of mankind, one more of our brethren, as we all were before him. But now you are the protectress. Now you assume his role._

“Enough.” Lara said, tensing. “Let me through. I must talk to Loanna.”

_Lady Loanna won’t talk to you, Amazon, chosen by the angels. You can’t communicate with her. But the Daughter of Light can. We'll let her through._

“How dare you block my way?” The explorer closed her fists, tensing the muscles. “I can still kick your arses like in old times. You’re slow and clumsy. I will pass.”

_Our humble bones are no more than, like ourselves, servants of the Light. Kick us, Amazon, we’ll consider it an honour – but you won’t pass. Lady Loanna’s message must be delivered only to your daughter, your sacrifice, your gift to mankind – or not delivered at all, and then, woe to her, to you and the Warrior. Woe to the whole of mankind. But what difference will it make to us, anyway?_

Anna winced. Were those bags of bones challenging her mother?

For a moment, Lara glared at them in silence. Then she shook her head, turned to Anna and knelt to be at her height. “We don’t have time for this. You’re going to enter alone.” She indicated. “She won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I won’t.” Anna assured, although she’d begun to wring her fingers.

“Don’t touch or damage anything, either. When you have the message, come back. I’ll be waiting for you.”

The girl, suddenly serious, nodded. Then she took a deep breath and turned to the skeletons. These, as if driven by a spring, rose up, stepped aside, clearing the entrance, and stood facing each other, crossing their blades on high.

Then a memory came back to Lara. _Fratribus collatis ianuae patent._

So many years ago, before Anna was born, before Kurtis meant something to her, despite he was already there, for her. Prague. The Vault of Trophies.

_The brothers reunited see the gates thrown open._

The carved knights, crossing their blades on high. The same position. The same meaning.

The path was open.

Lara watched the thin silhouette of her daughter pass between the two skeletons. At one point, the girl couldn’t resist and put a finger between the ribs behind the broken breastplate of one of the knights, but he didn’t move an inch.

“Well, see you later, alligator!” She said cheerfully. “I'm coming right away!”

And she got lost in the tunnel.


	13. Fate

It was like walking in a dream.

She could be fourteen years old and considered herself, in many aspects, already a woman, but truth be told, she was still a child. Children rarely doubt their parents, they trust them, believe in their words. She wasn’t different at all and the ties that bound her to Lara and Kurtis were even tighter, as she’d been instructed to trust, to obey, to act fast, both alone and as a team, because her safety depended on it when traveling with them around the world.

But to have before her eyes the realization of what they had told her was real, that it actually happened, even though she’d believed them blindly regardless of whether she saw it or not, was a rewarding, euphoric sensation.

There was Loanna's tomb, and it was just as they had described it. The circular, large chamber, with traces of soot and scorched stone where Karel's powers had impacted. The beautiful white sarcophagus in the centre, with the reclining lady, delicate, beautiful.

 _“Omnia vulnerant, ultima necat.”_ She recited as she approached, even before she even read the inscription under the figure, since she knew it by heart. “All of them hurt, but the last one kill.”

And there, next to the inscribed plate, were still the remains of dried blood. Her father’s blood, who’d hit his head after the Nephilim crashed him into the sarcophagus. All that had happened long before she was born, long before she was conceived, or she was even a mere possibility. But there was, in short, the proof. Everything was true.

 _What now?_ She thought, looking at the beautiful sculpted face. _Am I supposed to say something?_ She felt a bit silly standing there. Better to say some nonsense.

“Well, uhm, hi, Lady Loanna.” She murmured, and then she slapped her forehead. _Lame, so lame..._

_Welcome, Anna Heissturm._

The girl winced and turned sharply. There was no one. Suddenly she felt her legs tremble. _I'm not scared. I'm not scared._

 _Don’t be._ The voice was warm, soft, tender as a mother's - well, anyone’s mother but hers, of course. Still trembling, but caught with curiosity, Anna walked around the sarcophagus. _I won’t hurt you_ , the voice insisted.

There was _something_ sitting on the steps that gave access to the back of the sarcophagus. A fog, a disruption in the air, hard to say. It seemed like a woman. Long hair, long dress.

“A ghost!” Anna exclaimed involuntarily, gaping at the apparition.

The figure raised her face, and for a split second the girl thought she was going to see a skull, a zombie, a monster, anything really – but it was a young woman. Young, beautiful and sad, who smiled at her with a melancholy smile.

 _Greetings, daughter of my benefactor, daughter of the heiress of my legacy._ She tilted her head again and Anna saw a long dagger in her lap. _Thank you for coming._

Anna clicked her tongue and looked around, feeling very weird suddenly. There she was, talking to walking skeletons and ghosts of the past. She thought about asking her own questions, but the one being the first Amazon interrupted her. _There will be time for that, little one - but now you must listen._

“I… I’m listening.” She stammered.

_Do you remember your grandfather's message?_

A cold sweat ran down her back. She stared, gasping, at Loanna’s ethereal silhouette.

“Huh, well, yes... the... grandpa's skull... it... spoke.” She shifted her weight to the other leg. “But Dad said not to tell anyone.”

It seemed to her that the lady smiled sweetly. _And what did Konstantin Heissturm tell you, Daughter of Light? Repeat it._

The girl's face darkened. Suddenly, her legs weighed as if she’d run miles. She sat slowly on the stairs, in front of the apparition, although keeping the distances - just in case. “He told me to beware the long night.” She murmured, shuddering. “He told me to beware the prince of demons.”

_You know what that means?_

“How could I!” Anna looked at her dumbfounded. “Well, huh... I guess it means that... I’m in danger. You gonna explain to me?”

_Beware of the long night. Beware of the prince of demons._

“Really?” Anna rolled her eyes.

_Listen, little one. Now that you are here, I have very little time. What the warrior Heissturm, your grandfather, told you, is only part of what you should know, but it’s the most important part. I’ve been sent back to help you understand, but I don’t have all the answers, because the future isn’t written, and the result will depend only on the decisions you make and the actions you take._

“That's a contradiction.” Anna twisted her lower lip, thoughtful. “You warn me that I'm in danger, that Satan is chasing me or else, and then you tell me that I can change things. Either I can change them, or I can’t change them. Either I am predestined, or I am not.”

_You’re predestined, but you weren’t until being conceived. Do you know how it happened?_

Anna blushed involuntarily. “I know how kids are made.”

It seemed to her that Loanna was smiling again. _What I mean is that you might not have existed. Do you know what happened here? The Seal’s story?_

“Of course!” Was that ghost testing her? “I know everything, I'm not stupid! My father was the last Lux Veritatis and he faced Karel, who was the last Nephilim. They had to kill each other and disappear, to balance Good and Evil again.”

_But there was someone appointed to intervene._

“My mother.” Anna nodded. “The Amazon.”

_Good and Evil are self-regulating, Anna. It’s the only way in which the invisible forces of this world can work. You already know the story. The Lux Veritatis and the Nephili, the Children of Lilith, in continuous battle while She defied the King of Heaven. But that balance is readjusted from time to time. It happened once. I was the Amazon and Drakul had to father a child from me. If I had wanted him to confront the Lux Veritatis who chose to protect me, he wouldn’t have died tortured in his dungeons - but I didn’t choose the path of the True Option. I fled, abandoning him to his fate and, when the time came, I disposed of my life._

“I know. I’m sorry.” Anna murmured, feeling silly. What that mattered, at that point?

_The centuries passed, and the equation was repeated. Your father became the new chosen one, and this time, in addition, the last Lux Veritatis. The same happened to Karel. They were meant to face each other, and the Nephilim, clairvoyant, saw in Lara Croft the new Amazon. But she was willing to follow the path of the True Option. She did want to decipher the mystery. She chose._

Anna smiled slightly and glanced sideways at Loanna. “Because she was in love with my father.” She giggled. “Although here between you and me, she took long to admit it.”

Again, it seemed to her that the misty lady was smiling _. You think so? That it was for the sake of love?_

“Of course!” Anna stood up, offended. “Had not been she in love with my father, why would she choose him?”

_Out of love for justice?_

This time it was Anna who laughed. “I can tell you don’t know my mother.” She moved her hand. “Karel offered her the supreme wisdom, immortality. My father had nothing...”

_Except for love. Except for loyalty. Yes, Daughter of Light, love undoubtedly eased the choice. Love moves this world - but the story could have been different. She chose, and in doing so, you entered the plans of infinity. You were meant to exist from that moment, not before. Because, in choosing your father, your mother involuntarily unbalanced the balance. By making the Good triumph, she laid the foundations so that this choice, eventually, must be repeated once more._

Suddenly, Anna felt like a knot in her stomach.

“That... doesn’t sound good at all.”

_No, little Anna. It’s not good news that I bring you today. You must prepare for it._

“But... if my mother had chosen Karel, the same thing would’ve happened!”

_The same, yes. In the infinite plan, Good and Evil are irrelevant. The balance between them is what matters._

“Well, shit.”

_The story would’ve been different - but there’s no point in speculating about it, since the Amazon chose the Good and you entered the plans of infinity. That's why the cycle continued._

“The only way to have closed that cycle, then, is that both my father and Karel would’ve died!”

_Indeed. Your mother should’ve given up the choice and let both destroy each other._

“I’m not buying that this would’ve been the best ending!”

_But it was, my little Anna. It was._

“You're saying that I should not have existed!”

It seemed to her that the ethereal ghost stared at her.

_Hence the bad news, my little Anna._

 

* * *

 

With methodical calm, the assassin began to prepare his arsenal.

He’d almost had her. Almost. The bitch should’ve died that day - but he’d failed. Fucking bazaar and fucking people filling everything. The pressure led him to a mistake he didn’t use to make - a crucial mistake.

He would’ve loved that slut, that monster, to die in the operating room - but fate loved to make fun of him and his efforts. She’d survived - and when he decided to follow her trail again, she’d vanished.

Damn his fucking luck, really. It was his fault, of course – the godsdamned Trent.

“Shoulda killed you too.” He mumbled, as he finished assembling the last cables of the device, with a cigar between his teeth. “Why the hell I had to leave you alive. Fuck honour.”

It was almost ready. He cast a sidelong glance at one of the invitations he’d collected from the archaeology faculty two days ago. The announcement of the event in Göreme, in Cappadocia’s excavation. That Turkish brat, the archaeologist, was finally going to chant, to present her personal work where she aired what should’ve never been aired.

But what did he care now? All those who could’ve bothered, or be harmed by the verbiage of the Turkish, were dead. He’d only one thing left to do.

He was convinced that she would appear there. She wouldn’t resist. The event wasn’t going to be televised, thus she’d no choice but to attend. And apparently, despite the bullet, she was strong enough to leave the hospital and disappear.

Yes, without a doubt she would be there - but he wasn’t stupid enough to entrust the whole plan to a mere hunch. First, he would confirm her presence in the area. Then he could act freely.

And if the middle of the process that Turkish bitch and all her friends fell, the better.

Satisfied, he finished assembling the device and leaned back in the plastic chair, taking a long drag on the cigar. On television, a sensationalist news bulletin reported the disappearance of the victim of the Grand Bazaar after being discharged from the hospital.

The funniest thing of all - and it was hilarious! - was that Trent seemed to be protecting her now.

“I’ll be damned.” He laughed, and the laughter was interrupted by a cough. “That bitch captures you, delivers you to us, watches idly while we fuck you up big time, then kills your beloved British slut and the brat you made to her… and now you help and protect her from me.” He laughed again. “Holy shit, Trent. Either you’re fucking Jesus reborn, or the biggest asshole in this world.”

 

* * *

 

“The hell you mean!” The girl raised her hands, outraged. She seemed to have forgotten she was speaking to the spirit of a woman dead centuries ago. “How can you be like that?”

_From the moment your mother chose your father, you were meant to be born. That's why you were born. You were necessary once the choice was made. But again, you entered the Evil’s plans. You were meant to be the dark sacrifice for..._

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Anna crossed her arms, sulking. “Lilith. The Vortex. The Scepter. I know well that story. But my father dispelled those plans! He saved us. He brought us back.”

_Again, the love variable. Truly, love moves the world, isn’t it? Your mother didn’t have the courage to destroy you in her womb, as I did with the Nephilim’s bastard. For she loved your father, and she loved you too. Because your father loved your mother, and he loved you too, he again dispelled the plans of infinity. The cycle is still open._

“Dunno where’s this going.” Anna rubbed her eyes, tired. “Tell me at once what you want and leave me alone.”

_I'm doing it. You must understand how the infinite plan works. Balance is the goal - and, the closing of the cycle. For centuries, mankind has been exposed to the game of Good and Evil. Battles between demons and angels, struggles between Lux Veritatis and Nephili. Thousands of innocents who have died because of this imbalance. The triumph of Good, or Evil, is irrelevant and temporary. Sooner or later the cycle restarts. You’ve been chosen, Anna, to close the cycle. You’ve been chosen... for good and bad._

“Be honest. You're telling me that I must do what my parents, what Karel, what nobody has had the courage to do before.”

_A sacrifice of that category requires a great soul, a capacity well above good and evil, a love without limits. The warrior Heissturm, your grandfather, has acted out of love when warning you - but in the end, you won’t elude the long night. It’s your fate._

Anna remained silent for a moment, looking nowhere in particular. An immense cold seized her.

“You're telling me that I have to die.”

_There’s only one way to close the cycle. The long night for you... and the eternal light for mankind. The end of the imbalance. I'm sorry, little one. You deserved better._

* * *

 

The trip from Istanbul to Göreme was too much for Barbara.

She’d tried to endure but could not. She was still too weak. Truth be told, the only thing that kept her on her feet was her pride, not completely broken despite the troubles she suffered. She refused to give an unfortunate show to Kurtis. Although, in the end, she couldn’t help it.

She noticed a slight buzzing in the ear halfway, clinging to the back of her companion, shaken by the wind while the motorcycle roared from Istanbul to Göreme, crossing half the country, and she didn’t complain. The buzz increased, her head began to ache, and the sensation persisted despite the stops to rest.

When they finally arrived at the hotel where she had to stay until the execution of the plan, her sight had become cloudy and she was barely aware of what was happening around her. Which was a shame, because this time Kurtis had had some consideration and the booked room was a charming cave of a hotel dug in Cappadocia’s ancient rocks.

She just followed him mechanically and obeyed him without further ado. She hoped she could lie down to rest as soon as he left her there - and then she would recover. She would feel better. She could even check the stitches of the surgical suture - maybe it was time to remove them.

“... Selma’s event is taking place in a week.” Kurtis was saying, closing the door behind him, dropping the luggage and checking the room with his usual speed. “Until then I recommend you rest. I must arrange the last details, then I will give you precise instructions...” He stopped abruptly. “Hey, what's wrong with you? Are you OK?”

Planted in the middle of the room, her right hand still holding the purse, the woman was pale as a corpse, her lips violaceous. The dark bags under her eyes stood out against her pallor.

“Bathsheba.” Kurtis frowned, involuntarily pronouncing her old name. “Your ear’s bleeding.”

She reached up and touched her ear, the healthy one. She noticed humidity - a trickle of blood ran down her neck. The buzzing intensified. Then she collapsed.

It was fortunate that he was so close. If she didn’t hit her head against the bedside table, which was as stone and as old as the walls around her, it was because Kurtis held her in time, before falling to the ground.

 

* * *

 

“I feel bad.” Anna murmured, getting up. Her legs were shaking. Her belly hurt. She stumbled forward, clinging to the edge of the sarcophagus. “I gotta go.”

_Be brave, little Anna._

“Fuck that!” The girl turned abruptly and faced again the extinct Amazon. “I'm not your little one! How dare you call me here to tell me that I must die! Who do you think you are!”

_I am God’s messenger..._

“Then he's a stupid God!” She mumbled, furious, clenching her fists. “A stupid and cruel God! How do you dare! How dare you tell me that what my parents did was for nothing! My father fought, bled, suffered, died and came back for me! My mother chose him because she loved him! She died also for me! She could’ve chosen Karel, be the mother of the _Nephili_ , become eternal and immortal like him...”

_...and that would not have made a difference, Anna. The creature born of such a union, probably not very different from the pure Bathsheba, the Daughter of Lilith, would’ve had to die too, Anna. For the infinite plan, both Good and Evil are the same. Sooner or later, Karel's offspring would’ve had to face the same decision._

“Bullshit!” Anna shouted, clutching her belly. _God, it hurts_ , she thought. “I can’t believe we're worthless! My father suffered... he died... he was tortured for months! Did you know?”

_A Lux Veritatis rarely dies old, rarely dies in bed. Your father fulfilled his fate perfectly. He prided his ancestors._

“And yet you tell me he did wrong!”

_He didn’t, simply because he couldn’t have done something else. He let himself be carried away by love. The one who loves sacrifices himself for the beloved, always. The one who loves protects the loved one, always._

“You contradict yourself! You’re crazy! Y’all crazy!” Anna grabbed her head. “First you say it could’ve been something else, now you say it couldn’t have happened otherwise! You’re nuts, you and all those up there!”

_Your little brain can’t understand everything, but it’s normal. I regret having to be the one who told you this, because I believed in the Good while I lived, and for the Good I sacrificed myself. But the infinite plan doesn’t care about Good or Evil. If you preserve your life, the cycle will repeat itself in your offspring, and mankind will continue to suffer..._

“... well then, fuck mankind.”

_...and if you choose to assume your fate, then the cycle will close. Mankind will be free. Will you let others assume your mission? Why unnecessarily lengthen your life?_

“Shut up! I'm leaving here right now.” She turned around. “I don’t want to hear this. Besides...” She hesitated. “I'm mortal, after all, right? One day I’ll die... what else matters if I do it sooner or later?”

_I'm sorry, Anna, but a natural death doesn’t pay that price. Only a sacrifice. Remember, both your father and Karel should have destroyed each other to close the cycle. And for you to close it, you must die in combat..._

“... against the prince of demons.” Anna finished for her.

And then, the Amazon disappeared. Her voice fainted.

 

* * *

 

“Aaaaand... done!” Zip said cheerfully, and leaned back in the chair. “Time to call Captain Kurt. Hermes, call Captain Kurt.”

 _Calling Captain Kurt_ , a mechanical voice answered, and then the program dialled a specific number. Marie looked up from the tapestry she was weaving despite her aching hands. “What the hell is that?”

“Hush, you confuse him. It’s a voice recognition messenger designed by me. Called him Hermes, as the Greek god...”

“...the god messenger. Yes, I know.” The Navajo woman mumbled and focused again on sewing.

There was a connection-establishing sound, and within a few seconds, Kurtis' voice. “Did you even consider that the line might be tapped?” The ex-legionnaire said, without bothering to say hello.

“Nobody taps my lines, boss.” Zip clarified, offended. “They are clean and safe! I've already checked.”

“Then you better make it count.”

“Everything’s ready for the big blow – and did you get the hot chick?”

“Barbara’s weak.” Kurtis answered quickly. “She fainted. I called a doctor to examine her in the room, since it’s not safe to take her to a hospital.”

“Let her die.” Marie murmured, without stopping weaving.

“Fuck dude, that’s bad. If the hot chick fails, the plan fails.”

But Kurtis wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Call Selma. I need her help.”

“Let’s get the princess!” Zip yelled, but he’d barely turned his chair around when suddenly, the door opened, and the Turkish archaeologist stood inside the small studio full of screens. “I'm here, Kurtis!” She announced, wilfully.

“You were listening behind the door?” The hacker said, astonished.

“Selma,” Kurtis intervened, ignoring Zip, “I need you to get me an evening dress.”

“An evening dress? You gonna get sexy, Kurt?”

“Zip shut up.” Selma cut. “I guess you'll want it for Bathshe... for Barbara.”

“Exactly. Women handle these things better. Besides, I only know Lara's size.”

“Of course you know Lara’s size, you sly old bastard!”

“Zip, please.” Marie sighed, looking up. “Spare me your poor taste.”

“Don’t worry, Kurtis.” Selma promised. “I'll get you a beautiful dress for Bathshe... for Barbara. It must be the same size as I remember. I’ve an eye for that.”

“Actually, she lost a lot of weight. She’s very thin now.”

“You've looked and looked well on her, huh, Kurt, you bastard? OUCH!”

Selma had just slapped him. “You're a pig, Zip.” Turning back to the screen, the Turkish said: “Don’t worry, I'll take care of everything. She’ll have her dress. You make sure she recovers to play her role.”

For a moment, Kurtis remained silent. Then he spoke. “Do me another favor.”

“Anything you need.”

“Contact Lara in Egypt. Contact Jean Yves, if needed. But she must return as soon as possible - and she must bring Anna back. Understood? Whatever it takes to convince her.”

“I’ll convince her.” Marie promised solemnly. “She’ll listen to me.”

 

* * *

 

Suddenly, a vibration shocked the air. Lara stood up and faced the two skeletons, testing the guns, just in case - but it wasn’t necessary.

The knights, still with swords held high, trembled for a moment. And suddenly, they crumbled, like a house of cards that has been tapped. The bones were disassembled, the armour dismounted, the swords fell to the ground with a metallic rumble. Simply, without a word, without a movement, they collapsed. There was nothing left of them, but two piles of bones next to the remains of their armour.

“What the…” She moved forward and watched them for a moment. Then she kicked one of the skulls, which rolled without further ceremony.

Nothing, absolutely nothing.

And then she saw her. She was approaching her, staggering. Sobbing.

“Anna!” Lara shouted, and ran towards her, crossing the previously forbidden threshold without any problem. “What happened?”

She knelt before her daughter and grabbed her by the shoulders, but the girl was still crying, disoriented, disconsolate. Then Lara noticed that there was a faint trace of blood on the kid’s fingers.

“You're hurt?” She asked. “Who...?” She broke off to notice a dark spot between her legs, soaking the khaki fabric of her pants. “It's nothing, Anna. We talked about this before. What…?”

But she couldn’t go on because suddenly the girl threw her arms around her neck and continued crying against her chest, sobbing inconsolably. “Oh, Mom, I... I...” She stuttered, choking with tears. “I...!”

“Anna, calm down. You must calm down.” Lara tried to separate her gently to look at her face, but she held on harder.

“It’s a lie! Everything’s a lie! A damn, fucking lie!” The girl sobbed against her chest. “It has to be a lie!”

“What lie? Anna, please, talk to me. What did she said… that…that…”

The girl was still crying. Confused, lost, Lara just stroked her hair, waiting for her to calm down, while she felt the humidity of the first blood, the end of childhood.

**Author's Note:**

> After several years of absence, this year I've been surprisingly prolific in publishing new fanfics, and undoubtedly this is due to the immense love and support I've received from the AOD/Lartis fandom, particularly on Tumblr. To you (Mina, Vera, Yami, Lucie, Kim, Duygu, Anya, Fede... and the rest of my readers in FF.net, Wattpad, Inkitt, AO3 and DA, I don't forget you) I dedicate this new fanfic, sequel to The Awakening, but also sequel to all my previous works, to the point of making constant reference to them, even for the taste of the anecdote.  
> In The Legacy - excuse the clumsy title - I intend to explore human and family relationships concerning the TR universe characters who survived to my previous brutality. There will also be some action, although scarce: you know I love dialogues, feelings and the human psyche in all its beauty and complexity.  
> I hope this story lives up to your expectations and doesn't bore you too much. Excuse, also, if there are imperfections in the English translation, for I'm not an English native speaker. Thanks for bringing me back to the fanfic world :)


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